


The Most Human Color

by verbosins



Series: The Most Human Color [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Barely any smut, Depression, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Graphic Violence, Hearing Voices, Heavy Angst, Hurt feelings, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Intrusive Thoughts, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader Was a Fallen Human, Reader is a Monsters' Rights Activist, Reader-Insert, Sans Has Issues, Sans Needs A Hug, Sans doesn't show up until like the 6th chapter wtf, Scientist Sans, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Insert, Separation Anxiety, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Teenage Frisk, Violence, Violence Everywhere, Will Add Tags As They Become Relevant, angst everywhere, but it's coming i promise, everyone has a Bad Time™, reader identifies as female, rookie writer on the loose someone get the net, sans will make an appearance i swear, you gotta read through my vague incoherent ramblings to get to the smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbosins/pseuds/verbosins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up until recently, your life was pretty freakin' great. You were falling in love with a skeleton and were pretty sure he was on the same page. Passionately working alongside the King in the fight for monster rights. Creating a comfy little niche for yourself in the exciting new world of monster-human cohabitation. Hell, you even enjoyed your part-time job at Muffet's bakery with curmudgeonly Burgerpants. </p><p>But now, things are falling apart and you can't figure out why or how to stop it. Your brain just seems determined to sully what are supposed to be the happiest days of your life. Is it even possible to win a fight against your own mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where is the 'Good' in 'Goodbye'?

**Author's Note:**

> I am so done working on this, so I'm thrusting its malformed, loathsome carcass into the world against the laws of common decency.
> 
> All that is to say, I am not A Writer™. This is also my first multi-chapter fic. So, y'know, keep your expectations low.
> 
> As always, comments/criticism/suggestions are much appreciated. I respond to all feedback.
> 
>  ~~Try to~~ enjoy, my dudes.

Sans broke your embrace too quickly for your liking.

“see ya. don't take any fuzzy pickles,” he said with a lazy grin. 

Then he gave a little wave and jogged (jogged!) off toward the airport exit, weaving through crowds, checking the watch you gave him for Christmas to make sure he was going to make it to work on time.

You're about to leave for a week-long, cross-country trip and _that's_ the best he could manage? 

(And what the hell is a fuzzy pickle? Some kind of monster figure of speech?)

You roll your eyes affectionately at the memory, but can hardly hold back the tears that start welling up as a result. You're going to miss that silly skeleton. You already do, even though it's only been a few minutes since you parted ways at the boarding gate. 

This is going to be a long trip.

 

You notice Asgore, seated next to you (and taking up the rest of the three-chair row with his massive frame), look at you with concern. His expression is mirrored by several other nearby gobsmacked passengers, but for a totally different reason. You turn your face away, hopefully before he sees anything embarrassing.

“My child, are you alright?,” the king rumbles quietly. His intimidatingly large, furry paw rests gently on your arm. “You have not said a word since we boarded. Your coloring is also quite pale.”

Asgore's concern is touching, but it would be too awkward to be honest with him. You can't go complaining to your boss that you miss your boyfriend.

“Yeah, just nervous,” comes your weak reply, downturned face burning hot. It isn't a lie. Asgore seems to accept this and removes his paw after a moment. He faces forward again, leaning back in his chair (much to the chagrin of the man seated behind him) and closing his eyes.

“It is a shame that Sans could not join us for this important diplomatic journey,” the king says after a quiet moment. His tone is sympathetic.

Oh great, he knows. He wouldn't have brought it up otherwise – there's really no reason for Sans to be here. Oh well, you figure. Who _doesn't_ know how you feel about that skeleton by now, the way you two have been attached at the hipbone lately? 

Well, when he isn't busy working at the power plant, that is. Which is almost never these days. This isn't helping.

“Yeah, it is,” you respond, barely a whisper. ( _great way to start a business trip_ ), you admonish yourself with shame. 

Asgore says nothing more, just settles deeper into his seat, clearly intending to nap the flight away. Not going to be an option for you. You're too anxious. You try to distract yourself by focusing on the view from the window on your right, but all you can see is tarmac. The pilot is yammering about flight safety overhead, but it's just background noise. 

 

This is the furthest you've been from Sans since you and Frisk and all of monsterkind emerged from Mt. Ebbott last year, and your brain isn't taking to the concept very maturely. In fact, it hasn't been able to handle much of anything lately.

 

It started soon after Sans got the job at Ebott Energy, the power plant outside town that provides electricity to the whole county. At first, you were just really excited for him and for Alphys, who was hired a few weeks prior and had recommended him to her employers. You'd never seen Sans so enthused about anything. The people at the plant obviously recognized their talents and seemed to be equally eager to be the first company in the world to collaborate with monster scientists. 

But the enthusiasm started to wear off, at least on your end, when it became clear that Sans would be working a lot more than either of you initially thought. Way more than the typical 40 hours a week of a normal full-time job. But even then, it wasn't that bad at first.

He called you on breaks and texted you frequently, sending you pictures of his endless pranks on Alphys or jokes he thought of. He would come home on time and you would meet up almost every day to get food or fall asleep watching movies or have video game marathons that turned into wrestling matches. On those rare instances that you went home instead of staying over, he would call to say goodnight. And, of course, the nights you didn't leave...well, they were pretty great. It was the fucking best.

Now, though, he sometimes doesn't even make it home for a few days at a time, sleeping on the break room couch and taking his meals from a vending machine. The same goes for Alphys, and you know it's driving Undyne mad too. You sincerely doubt the human employees are expected to work this much, or that Sans gets paid a fair wage for it. There are no laws governing such things, after all.

He spends so much time at the plant now that, instead of the musky, snowy scent you came to associate with him during your time underground, he now smells sterile, like chemicals.

And the worst part is that Sans isn't even allowed to talk about what's got him working so hard, so often. Some kind of machine they're developing, judging by how many times a week he gets called in between shifts to do “repairs”. You guess the company doesn't want trade secrets getting out or something, but it's annoying as hell that Sans has to keep things from you. As far as you know, he's not in the habit of doing that. 

You don't see why the plant can't just hire some kind of maintenance person whose actual job it is to keep up with that kind of stuff, but you don't say anything to Sans. The adjustment to the surface world has been hard enough on its own – you don't want to stress him out any more than he clearly already is, even though he tries to hide it from Papyrus. And, unsuccessfully, from you. 

It's just that all this uncertainty about what your boyfriend is doing most of the time makes you uneasy. You're insanely proud of him for forging a new life for himself and his brother in the foreign (and often hostile) human world. He's working so hard to make “the move upstairs”, as he calls it, worth it. 

But...well, can't he spend a little more time with you? Is it selfish to want to be with your boyfriend? It feels like he's slowly drifting away from you, like he's on a ship while you're stuck on the shore and you absolutely hate it.

You grumble to yourself, crossing your arms and slouching into your seat.

 

Your mood definitely isn't helped by the fact that this trip, being so monumentally important for monster-human relations, has been incredibly stressful to prepare for.

Why oh why did you let Asgore talk you into doing this? You didn't, _couldn't_ , take the official ambassadorship he'd offered you over tea soon after returning to the surface. No way. 

When you protested that it was really Frisk who deserved the role, having been the human to actually free everyone, Toriel wouldn't have it. She didn't want them in front of all those invasive cameras and hateful protesters at such a young age – they have a brand-new high school to adjust to. 

You don't blame her, but the suggestion was worth a shot. Besides, you're partial to the little squirt and don't want them to experience more suffering than high school is sure to inflict. 

They _did_ save your life, after all, and you won't soon forget it.

In the end, you agreed to help the king and former queen with their burgeoning Embassy in any other way you could. Knowing humans, you expected there'd be a long and arduous battle ahead of them, and so far you've been right. 

Little did you know that your offer would result in you somehow becoming the king's diplomatic aide, helping him write and deliver speeches and arranging meetings with various officials all over the country. It's a heavy title, but you think of yourself as basically a glorified assistant. 

Most of the political representation monsters have gotten in these last few months has been relatively small-time, so you haven't had to do much more than arrange a couple local and national news appearances. Though you'll never understand how, a surprising number of humans are content to pay their new neighbors no mind. 

But _this_. The conference you're having to attend. The first Monster-Human Relations Summit. It promises to be the big time, the make-or-break meeting of the minds that will determine whether the past will repeat itself. Diplomats from several countries have agreed to convene and hear the case for monster equality. You know you should feel appreciative that the world finally seems to be sitting up and taking notice of your and the other Embassy members' efforts. But all you feel is anger that it took this long. Your monster friends have so much to gain and so much to lose.

And, considering your inexperience, was it really fair of the king to ask you to deliver your own speech for such a critical event?

You've tried telling Asgore that you have no experience writing speeches, much less delivering them to some of the world's most infuential politicians, but he dismissed your concerns entirely. The logic for his belief in your abilities is lost on you, but you've been trying your damnedest not to let him down. You haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. The pressure is absolutely nauseating.

 

Not wanting to think about the looming conference anymore and needing comfort, you shakily take your phone from your coat pocket and unlock it. You can't believe it - just your wallpaper is enough to set your throat ablaze again. 

A selfie Sans took a while ago of the two of you sitting out in the backyard. You're laughing and covered in dirt from the garden. He's wearing that dumb “Sun's Out Guns Out” tank top that he thinks is hilarious because he literally has no muscles. Arial, the brothers' little white Pomeranian, is stretched out contentedly across both of your laps, begging for belly rubs.

Feeling a rush of longing in your chest so sharp that it physically hurts, you quickly stuff the device back into your pocket, resisting the urge to text Sans. 

( _you don't want to look as pathetic as you feel, do you?_ ) 

Tired of fighting your own mind and already tired of traveling, you sink even further into your seat and resign yourself to staring out the claustrophobically small window as the plane lurches forward and crawls to the runway. 

Nine hours to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're 18+, come find me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you'd like to read the backstory I personally imagine for Reader, check [ this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827) out.


	2. Stepping Out With a Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that I have no idea what I'm doing.

It had been about two months since you'd fallen.

 

You were having fun goofing off with the skeleton brothers. Absorbing every bit of information available in the library. Exploring the seemingly endless woods and every nook and cranny of Snowdin. Getting to know the small but diverse clan of monsters that called it home. Loving the idea of calling it yours, too.

 

But you couldn't stay there, you knew that.

 

What if you got really sick? As far as you knew, there was neither human medicine nor doctors with knowledge of the human body in the Underground. Funny, the little things you took for granted on the surface.

 

As kind as the bunny family was being, letting you stay at the Inn for a generously discounted rate, your funds were running low and you didn't think you could bear another perilous journey through the Ruins to accrue more. Maybe Papyrus would accompany you...but, as nice as he is, it would probably be too weird to ask. And as much as you would've loved to go adventuring with Sans, he didn't seem like he'd be much help in the battle department. Besides, he was always cooped up in his room.

 

And, most importantly, you'd promised Toriel that you'd do your best to convince Asgore to destroy the Barrier. Since he clearly hadn't come to you to try to take your Soul yet, it seemed _you_ were going to have to go to _him_.

 

It sounds selfish to admit it, but, despite all those factors, it was actually your dying music player that motivated you to leave in the end.

 

It had been in your bag before your fall, and by some miracle had survived it, but you hadn't thought you'd need the charger so it had stayed in a drawer way back at your apartment. Not that it would've fit in any of the weirdly-shaped outlets down there anyway. Now it was on its last leg and you'd have nothing to lull you to sleep on nights when it eluded you and the snoring next door was too loud.

 

So there you sat, sniffling on the side of the road to Snowdin on the way back from another forest trek, alone and very cold. Enjoying the last few moments of music that the device could play, feeling homesick even though there was nothing for you up there.

 

Suddenly, there was an almost imperceptible crunch of snow on the path behind you. You didn't even flinch at the possible danger. Maybe you were beyond caring. Seems the problems that drove you up the mountain had followed you-

 

“you'll be a humancicle before morning, kid,” came a familiar baritone voice. When you didn't move or even respond, it came closer. “do you make a habit of sitting by the road in the middle of nowhere, looking at nothing, or...”

 

Sans trailed off, presumably noticing your tear-streaked face. He dropped into a cross-legged position to your left. 

 

“whoa whoa, what's with all the waterworks?”

 

The mild concern in his voice felt like the kindest act in the world at that moment. It gave you the strength to wipe the tears from your eyes and try to talk.

 

“My, uh...my MP3 player's about to run out of juice,” you hiccuped, feeling a little silly. The skeleton reached out for it, and without thinking you gave it to him for inspection. It was the first time you'd seen his hands out of his pockets and without gloves, and you were fascinated. He turned the device over in his hands, studying it with rapt curiosity while you watched the gears turning in his skull.

 

“judging by the brand, i'm guessing it's apple juice?”

 

You chuckled a little at the lame joke and went on, voice wavering a little less, “It's stupid, I know, but...it's really the only good thing I have from the surface.”

 

Sans only nodded, and after a few seconds of silence, asked, “mind if i took a listen? haven't heard much music that wasn't mettaton's.”

 

Your first instinct was to say 'no', fearing how devastated you'd be when the thing was well and truly dead. After a moment's consideration, though, you decided that there was no one, human or monster, who you would rather have listen to your last few minutes of music with you. He only watched your deliberation, never pushing. 

 

When you handed him an earbud, he held it close to his head with an excited grin, motioning for you to play something. You chose your absolute favorite song, and when your tears started up again, he scooted closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. As you cried into your knees, feeling so dumb, he silently rubbed circles into your back until you stopped.

 

You left Snowdin the next day, and Sans was definitely standing a little closer than usual when you told him goodbye. 

 

\----

 

Man, this flight is taking forever. 

 

As distracting as reminiscing about Sans is, it can't keep you from feeling your bottom starting to become sore. Despite having a ludicrous amount of gold stored away, Asgore is something of a penny-pincher, and it shows in his choice of airline.

 

The king snores impressively beside you while you hunch forward to reach the carry-on bag you stowed under your seat, digging for your phone. Just as you check the time (and hope desperately that Sans has texted you so you have an excuse to text him back), the overhead speakers buzz to life and the pilot announces that the plane is beginning its descent. 

 

( _pretty lame that you've done nothing but think of your boyfriend this whole trip_ ), chides your brain, and you don't manage to swat the thought away before it settles in. Thinking of your time Underground is usually a sure-fire way to lift your spirits, but it makes you nervous to find that it does the exact opposite now.

 

You know Sans would be making a joke about flying in all the way from Mount Ebbot and boy, are my arms tired, right about now. The thought brings you a little comfort before it's snatched away by your self-deprecating thoughts.

 

You nudge Asgore and he snorts awake, startling several nearby passengers into consciousness as well. Ugh, why couldn't _you_ have slept through the whole thing? You'd certainly be a lot more alert right now, and that would have really come in handy considering the large number of meetings you're about to have to fully participate in.

 

There's barely enough time to get checked into your hotel and drop off your bags before Asgore calls you from the lobby to alert you to the arrival of the car that's taking the two of you to the conference center. On the drive over, you struggle to stay awake in the sweltering heat and accidentally prick yourself while affixing your name tag to your blouse. 

 

You notice that, under your name, the words “Monster Ambassador” are engraved onto the gold-plated surface. When you look at Asgore with alarm, he just puts his paws up in defense, smiling his infuriatingly tranquil smile. 

 

“'Assistant to the King of Monsters' would not have fit. Nor is it fitt _ing_. It is time to accept that you are our ambassador in all but title, my child.”

 

You appreciate the gesture, you really do, but it does nothing to quell your fears. In fact, it just amplifies them.

 

Your swirling, panicked thoughts are solely about how you have no idea what you're doing. 

 

( _he trusts you don't know why since you're only going to screw up and make things worse for him and the other monsters_ )

 

Maybe it's safest to keep your mouth shut until you absolutely must speak for your speech in a few days. At least until these disparaging thoughts go away.

 

It doesn't help when you see the crowd. 

 

A writhing mass of bodies fight for positions close to the guest entrance of the huge white building, propping up hundreds of signs and cameras. The gathering takes up the entire block and makes you feel dizzy. 

 

Asgore never let on that this was anything but the relatively private conference you'd imagined. Actually, that's not true, he specifically assured you that this would have no press following, and you were too busy writing your stupid speech to realize that was totally illogical. He had been atypically mum on the details, and you realize this is why. For the second time today, you whirl on him in dismay. He just straightens his too-small tie sheepishly. This fucking guy.

 

Starting to tremble, you turn back to look at the masses, to which you're now close enough to hear making a lot of noise. You watch intently as a black car, identical to the one that's chauffeuring you, pulls up to the curb with difficulty and emits a duo of suited dignitaries, their well-practiced hands already in the air to deter questions. They push through the hordes, which don't seem interested in clearing a path for them, avoiding the microphones being shoved into their faces. News crews. You're going to murder your boss.

 

If the crowd was frenzied before, it escalates to a full-blown fever pitch when Asgore steps out onto the sidewalk.

 

You follow closely behind him, fighting the urge to cling to him like a child, eyes darting wildly around the chaotic scene. Security is apparently woefully under-prepared for this level of hysteria, because you see them frantically bellowing into walkie-talkies for backup. 

 

Reporters practically trample one another to beg for a statement from the one and only King of All Monsters, who politely declines and keeps an eye on you. Thankfully no one seems to even notice that you exist. 

 

The meetings are blissfully boring compared to the craziness outside; a bunch of diplomats in stuffy suits debating the implications of monster equality under the law. Tensions are already high in the tiny boardroom you're currently sitting in. You didn't expect things to get this heated this fast. 

 

Dozens of voices fight to be heard by the king and their fellow representatives, creating a cacophony that hurts your head. You want to appear professional and attentive, but the ridiculous behavior of these grown-ass adults has you scowling and crossing your arms. God, if only Sans were here. He'd know what to say to these people much better than you, and exactly how to say it.

 

Then, one diplomat from a country you've never heard of shouts something terrible and expletive-laden about how monsters shouldn't be treated the same as humans because they _aren't_. 

 

Oh, _hell_ no. So much for keeping quiet.

 

You stand with conviction, planting your hands on the long table. All eyes are suddenly on you as you prepare to deliver an irritated retort. Fuck these old men and their old ideas.

 

“Gentlemen, _my_ name is on the lease of my boss' bakery because she can't apply for one. My bo-, uh, best friend can't even drive himself to work. Even if he had a license, the only driving school in town refuses to grant lessons to 'non-human entities'. There is no allowance for these people to do things as simple as these, things _we_ take for granted, things they genuinely _want_ to do, because they aren't seen as people by the people who make the laws.”

 

The staring and occasionally incredulous sea of faces makes you feel sick, but you force yourself to continue. You turn to face the man who uttered the offensive comment in question with narrow eyes.

 

“For lack of a better term, we have to humanize them in the public eye. These are sapient, sentient beings we're talking about here, after all. Do you all really want your political legacies to be built on exclusion and discrimination?” 

 

You retake your seat as the room immediately erupts with dissenting responses, but your adrenaline is blasting too hard for you to pay attention to any of them. Asgore just beams at you. You're surprised at and hesitantly pleased with yourself. That particular consul is much less vocal after that. 

 

Once the preliminary gatherings are done with, you take advantage of the brief recess to grab a complimentary bottle of water and check your phone. There's a message. Your heart leaps.

 

 **Sans <3** | **2:04 P.M.**  
_hey babe. just checking in_

 

That was 4 hours ago, not including the time zone difference. Sans should be getting off work soon, if he's lucky. Damn. In all the hurry, you can't believe you forgot to text him when you touched down like you said you would. You hastily tap out a response, knowing Asgore will motion for you to return to the latest meeting room at any moment.

 

 **Me** | **6:27 P.M.**  
_Hey you. Sorry I didn't text earlier. Just a lot of meetings so far. Miss you and hope work is going well._

 

Sure enough, the king beckons for you from down the hall and you scurry off to the next handful of discussions, a little sad that you won't be able to Sans for at least another few hours. And you have a whole week of this to look forward to. Joy.

 

\----

 

When you're escorted through a different exit, long after sunset, you're relieved to see that police and increased security have the thinning but still massive crowd mostly in check. That is, until one diplomat makes the mistake of exiting through the main entrance and is set upon like a fish in a shark tank.

 

You don't know if you would even timidly say that the first day of the conference was a success. Being the first of such forums on an international scale, things were bound to be anarchic, but if things keep going like they did today, nothing is going to get done. You wish you could say some good ideas were traded, but all you can recall are the shouting matches. The impact of what you and the king are doing here hits you again like a brick and a new wave of nausea rolls over you. 

 

You place the legal pad you brought next to you on the leather backseat of the car that's taking you back to the hotel. You'd envisioned its pages would be full of notes, ideas and suggestions for the Ebott Monster Embassy, contact information for other monsters' rights groups. But all you managed to scribble were a few doodles (of, who else, Sans). You really wish you had something good to bring home to your co-workers back at the Embassy.

 

Asgore clears his throat from beside you, breaking the reverent silence. When you look up at him, comically hunched over in the cramped car, your lips can't help but quirk up at the sight of his goofy, satisfied smile.

 

Apparently, the king has a completely different view of how things went.

 

“What a day!” he booms, slapping his knee and laughing so loudly that it rattles the car windows. “Oh, my child, what a wonderful day for monsters! I cannot _wait_ to share the exciting news of our progress with Tori!”

 

 _You_ certainly can – Toriel's been treating you pretty frostily since you all escaped the Underground and you don't know why. You're kind of ashamed to admit that you're relieved Frisk has daily theater rehearsals this week that kept her from coming on the trip.

 

You can only force a small smile in response, turning to the window while he roars on happily. You wish the king's optimism were more contagious.

 

\----

 

Finally, you and a grinning Asgore are returned to your hotel and part ways in the lobby. He bounces off toward his room, whistling off-key.

 

You pull off your heels in the elevator, the cool air-conditioning and plush carpet a welcome reprieve for your sore stocking-feet. The empty hallway from the elevator to your room is lined with windows, exposing the gleaming, lively city to your tired eyes. 

 

The crescent moon hangs like a Cheshire grin over the skyline, reminding you of a certain someone you know. You can't help but take pause when you notice it and decide to rest here for a moment. You're leaning against a marble windowsill, absorbing the breathtaking view, as you allow your mind to wander to Sans. 

 

You've seen the outside of the nondescript, industrial building where your boyfriend works many times since you drop him off and pick him up whenever you can. The plant's windows are placed much too high up for him to look out at the tiny city that represents so much for him. 

 

You think of him, doing whatever he does so late at night after most of the humans have gone home, with only Alphys for company. Finally stumbling in to his and Papyrus' small house, falling into bed and sleeping a mere couple of hours before it's right back to the plant again. The only light he sees these days is fluorescent.

 

You check your phone. Nothing.

 

Sighing, you pull yourself off the sill and wander the rest of the way to your room. It's slightly easier to avoid thinking about how sad and exhausted you are when you finally get a chance to look around your unnecessarily huge suite. You'd been rushed out too soon to get a chance to scope it out earlier. 

 

Thankfully, it wasn't up to stingy Asgore to make the accommodations – Toriel painstakingly set all this up months ago. You take in the extravagance of the place; king-size bed (though it makes you laugh trying to imagine the king struggling to fit on it) with a plushy, golden brocade comforter all to yourself. And those ain't no 300-thread-count sheets. Crown molding on the walls, intimidatingly large TV, feather-soft carpet. Does every room have its own full-sized Keurig, or is it just yours? Just, damn. 

 

You desperately need a shower, but glance at the clock on the bedside table to see if it's worth it. 11 P.M. Guess Sans is either pulling another all-nighter or passed out in bed. Until a few weeks ago, on those rare instances that you went home instead of staying over, he would always call to say goodnight. But he's been forgetting more and more. Too tired. 

 

Sighing for the millionth time today, you resolve to check out what appears to be a rather fancy bathroom. You're not surprised when the cream-colored tile floor warms up at the flip of a switch next to the light. The jet of hot water is such an amazing temperature and pressure that you feel like you could probably just lie down in the huge tub and let the water massage you to sleep. 

 

As beat as you are, and a little miffed (okay, a lot) that he hasn't so much as texted you all evening, you still think about how perfect it would be if Sans could join you. No conference. No work. Just you and him, on a well-deserved vacation. Taking a long shower before crawling into that ridiculously soft bed to cuddle and whisper and hopefully more. Falling asleep without setting any alarms. Getting up whenever and exploring the city and trying local delicacies and taking silly pictures...you can't help but take a deep breath at the painful yearning that lodges itself in your chest.

 

A favorite memory comes to you then, one from before all of this garbage started. From back when Sans couldn't keep his eyes or hands off you. A memory you've revisited many times.

 

You don't even try to push this intriguing new train of thought off its track, glad to have something pleasant to focus on for a change. 

 

When you're thinking about him, more specifically of the two of you together, it's a lot harder for bad thoughts to get to you, so you're going to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing what you guys think!
> 
> **Smut warning for next chapter.**
> 
> If you're 18+, come find me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you'd like to read the backstory I personally imagine for Reader, check [ this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827) out.


	3. How Can There Be Any 'Sin' in 'Sincere'?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that I appreciate your support more than you know.
> 
> Also **smut warning** and **implied dubcon** that happens in a dream.

It was the first night Sans had ever spent the night at your place. Usually it's the other way around since he's just too wiped out to go anywhere on his rare days off.

 

You'd decided to treat yourself with some of the money you'd saved up from working full-time at Muffet's bakery. (As much as the king appreciates your work for the Embassy, he has to save as much money as he can for the fight for monster rights. So no paycheck.). You bought all-new furniture for the adorable suburban apartment you could finally afford to move into. Just cheap D.I.Y. stuff – you'd spared Sans from the shopping trip and Papyrus took his place with signature enthusiasm. 

 

But you did tell Sans you could use some help putting it together. Of course, you were perfectly capable of building the furniture yourself. It was just an excuse to be with him on an unlikely day when you both had free time.

 

It also allowed you to be fascinated with how his body worked, even doing something so mundane and unsexy as putting furniture together. As he sat on the floor of your bare bedroom, screwing together some wooden beams in the middle of a nest of other assorted pieces, you paused in the doorway on the way back from the kitchen for a snack run. 

 

Watching his phalanges grip and turn the screwdriver, carpals rotating smoothly, jointlessly against the radius and ulna that were exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. The crook of his cervical vertebrae as he hunched over the bedframe-in-progress, face scrunched in frustration when the screw wouldn't go in straight. Low voice muttering curses under his breath. The outline of his spine and shoulders pressed against the back of his sweater. Sure, you'd sneaked a few looks at him during your time underground, but now that you were on the surface you had more opportunities to appreciate his, er, physical attributes.

 

You know most (probably all) other people would call you weird (and worse) for finding such a thing attractive, but oh _lord_ help you, you do. 

 

Without thinking, you strode across the small room and fell to your knees beside him. Before he could ask what was wrong, his words caught in his fleshless throat as your hands grabbed his and caressed them. You intently kissed each segmented finger, delighting at their warm smoothness on your lips. A myriad of emotions flashed across Sans' face. 

 

Moments later, those fingers were inside you.

 

On the mattress, on the floor, you sat between Sans' femurs and reclined on him as he leaned against the wall. The line of your spine fit perfectly between his ribs, which were flush against you. He'd pushed all your hair to one side and was pressing his teeth to the back of your neck and between your shoulders in those makeshift kisses you adore as his hands busied themselves with your slick, throbbing clit. 

 

Openly groaning, you held his skull in place with your arm craned up behind your head while the other clutched fervently at the sweat-drenched sheets. It was all so slow and sweet and perfect. It didn't take long for you to come completely undone in his arms, inner muscles contracting so intensely that it almost hurt, in rhythm with his skillfully rubbing and sliding fingers.

 

And afterward, the two of you sat on the tiny balcony with your feet propped up on the railing, sipping drinks while Sans named the few stars that shone brightly enough to be seen through the lights of the nearby city. The unfinished bed frame lay neglected in your room and the two of you slept on just the mattress, two lovelorn creatures too tangled up in each other to think of the world outside your room.

 

You're brought back to the present when you notice a slickness that definitely isn't water beginning to creep down the insides of your thighs. You decide to turn off the shower and take care of the need between your legs in bed – even _thinking_ about standing any longer after such an exhausting day makes you want to cry.

 

A luxuriously fluffy white bathrobe hanging by the door keeps you from freezing while you make the short trip from the bathroom to the bed.

 

The moment you lie down, your thoughts itch to return to that wonderful night. The amazing little details that stand out make it impossible for you to keep your hands off of yourself – Sans' bony fingers clutching at you needily, scrabbling for purchase on your soft skin, just hard enough to leave lovely little red marks. 

 

His voice, deep and quiet, rumbling in your ear about how good you make him feel, even when you're the one being pleasured. His ribcage pressed firmly at your back - those lovely, delicate bones you love to touch. You'll have to remember to finally ask him why they look so different from human ribs, kind of like they melted a little. 

 

His teeth worrying haphazardly at your neck, canines digging in just deep enough. You swear you can still feel the indentations his sweltering bones made on your willing skin. You bite your lip to keep your vocalizations from escaping. You're so wonderfully close now.

 

Your phone ringing from beside you on the bed snaps you back into reality and you jump about a foot into the air, the heat in your groin cooling off instantly. 

 

God. Dammit.

 

You take a moment to compose yourself. Breathing heavily and more than a little annoyed, you turn the device over to see who's phoning this late - Sans. 

 

Think of the devil, and he shall call you while you're masturbating, apparently. You answer it quickly and struggle to keep your voice from betraying the intensity of the activity you were just undertaking.

 

“H-Hello?”

 

“hey, babe. just got back.”

 

Oh god, his voice...it's not enough. Not even close.

 

You clench your eyes shut to hold in the tears that are suddenly fighting to roll down your cheeks, chastising yourself again for getting so worked up over a weeklong separation.

 

( _god, pull yourself_ together)

 

“Yeah, I'm here, sorry.” You have to bite your tongue to keep from blubbering about how good it is to hear his voice. You decide to go with, “How'd you get home?” 

 

“oh, tawny offered to come back to the plant and give me a ride,” he explains, yawning.

 

Tawny. This isn't the first time you've heard the name of _that_ particular co-worker. You've had to suffer through Alphys gushing about how brilliant she is on more than one occasion. Apparently her and Sans' chess matches are a sight to behold. Ugh.

 

You feel jealousy beginning to churn in your gut, so you quickly change the subject. “So did Papyrus ask for you to read 'Fluffy Bunny' again?”

 

“no, paps fell asleep before i got back, so i didn't get to read to him,” he adds, sounding a little guilty. Seems like Papyrus is putting himself to bed more and more lately.

 

He asks you to tell him about the first day of the First Annual Monster-Human Relations Summit. You do, lamenting the endless meetings and debates, and he 'hmm's and 'ok's in the right places while getting ready for bed. But you're sure he's too tired to really process much of what you're saying. You try not to think about how much better it would be if he were laying here next to you, stroking your head while you talk. 

 

You don't bother to ask about his day, knowing he isn't at liberty to talk about it in detail.

 

“So, what time do you have to be in tomorrow?”

 

He hesitates. “...5:00.”

 

Anger lances you and you can't stop it. “ _Five o'clock_? And you _just_ got home? Sans, that's ridiculous!”

 

You can hear the shrug in his voice, along with a touch of defensiveness, when he replies, “we're really close to a breakthrough here. i don't mind working when i'm needed.”

 

Seriously? He _doesn't mind_ never getting to see his family or friends? He _doesn't mind_ never getting to see you?

 

Wait, wait. Can't get too worked up about that. At least he called. And at least he's sleeping in his own bed. Maybe the rational part of your brain hasn't gone on vacation as much as you thought. It's a little easier to keep a level head when you're actually talking to him.

 

It's also easier to be aroused. But you couldn't possibly, you both have early starts tomorrow and...whatever, you're going for it. You never got to finish what you started a few minutes ago anyway. You need some stress relief and he probably does too.

 

“Well, while I've got you here, you wanna, um...” you start, resolve petering out halfway through. “.....maybe........fool around??? On the phone????”

 

The silence on the other end is a little disheartening. It's also lasting a little too long. Your heart plummets.

 

“Sans...? Was that...too weird?”

 

Steady breathing is the only reply.

 

Did he...fall asleep?

 

You try to wake him by gently saying his name just a couple more times before you give up, jabbing the red button, ending the call and rolling over in a huff. 

 

You lay there naked in the dark, feeling silly and embarrassed. And you know that's not good...those kinds of feelings shouldn't be associated with sex.

 

( _well, you_ did _shoot him down last time. maybe this is just karmic retribution_ )

 

Thanks, brain. You can shut up now.

 

But it doesn't shut up, instead deciding to remind you of how you felt something new, something warm and firm pressed against the small of your back as Sans held you against him that night, something you definitely didn't suspect he had. 

 

Honestly, you thought you'd already _had_ sex with Sans – you'd made him orgasm several times before by stroking his bones in just the right places. You assumed that was the closest to “traditional” sex you were going to get, and you were fine with that. This was a pretty sudden change.

 

For some reason, your mind wants at this particularly vulnerable moment to remind you that, instead of exploring this new and exciting dimension of your relationship like you so very much wanted to, you'd had a fit of nervousness and told him you weren't sure about going any further right then. That you had to get to sleep since you had to be at the Embassy early the next morning. 

 

He'd separated himself from you immediately, rubbing a hand over his neckbones (“ok, babe. ok. shit, i'm sorry i came on so strong.”) and you instantly felt guilty at the sight of his look of confusion. His face quickly shifted to one of understanding, and he settled for holding you close, but that underlying nervousness in his actions took a while to dissipate. The idea that you might have hurt him is still crushing to you. 

 

But how were you supposed to know he was going to get so absorbed at work that you wouldn't even get a chance to continue that thought?

 

( _you're supposed to be focusing on making monsters' lives better and here you are thinking only of rubbing one out, shameful, you should be ashamed_ )

 

 _Thanks_ , brain. God, how the fuck are you supposed to focus on _anything_ , let alone something so complex and meaningful, when you're feeling so awful?

 

To make things worse, when you finally fall into a fitful sleep, you dream that Sans didn't stop that night. As you relive the scene, Sans doesn't back off and leave your room to cool down. 

 

Instead he growls with suddenly black sockets, “are you fucking serious? you little cocktease, gettin' me all riled up...come here.”

 

You hope he's just joking, but even then, it doesn't seem like Sans to joke about something like this. Cold fear washes over you, but you try to laugh it off.

 

“What? Sans-” 

 

“ **C O M E H E R E** ”

 

Then he waves a hand and you're moving toward him against your will and...

 

The next morning sees you cold and exhausted, trembling as you go out into your frightful new world of unkind words and people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're 18+, come find me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you'd like to read the backstory I personally imagine for Reader, check [ this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827) out. (Not necessary though.)


	4. I Can't Remember to Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! 
> 
> Here's when things will start picking up, I think.

The next two days drag on and on in the unbearable heat, and you just keep feeling worse and worse. 

 

After the other night's conversation with Sans, he hasn't called since then and he's only texted you once, yesterday, to say good morning. That certainly doesn't make you feel any less humiliated about what happened. 

 

You don't want to be here anymore. You just want to see and talk to and touch Sans. You just want to go home. 

 

The king remains cheerful and confident that things are going well here. How can he not see that these stiff bastards hate him and his people and all they represent? To them, monsters are nothing more than an inconvenience, a problem that they'd rather sweep under the rug than take the time to solve. Asgore and the others have so much naive faith in them, but having lived among them most of your life, you're well aware that it's humans who are the real monsters. 

 

And _god_ , why can't that bonehead just take two seconds away from work to send you a message?

 

The image of him working and laughing with that Tawny chick returns to your mind many times and just pisses you off more and you hate your brain for forcing it on you.

 

Time absolutely crawls.

 

People shout at you and at each other, day after day of this godforsaken conference.

 

Same arguments, same insults, same intolerance. You're beginning to realize that humans are too disgusting an enemy to even bother fighting.

 

Asgore often looks to you for your reactions and input and you don't know _why_ and you can't bring yourself to look back. Even though they're a hormonal teenager, you're sure that Frisk would be shining if they were in your position. Using that charm and quiet strength that assured their success in the Underground to calm the quarreling masses. Some people just aren't meant to be heroes. 

 

Only two more days until your speech.

\------

 

That night, on the way back to the hotel, Asgore startles the hell out of you by clapping a heavy hand onto your shoulder out of nowhere.

 

“My child, I must admit that I have been concerned for your well-being. You have not been yourself since we boarded the plane from Ebott.”

 

Wow, awfully to-the-point and astute for Asgore. You can only muster the strength to continue staring at him.

 

“I believe enjoying a good meal is the best way to ease one's sorrows,” the king declares, looking off almost dreamily. He pauses and turns to you, clearly expecting a reply this time.

 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you say weakly. You're so, so tired. He lights up despite your lackluster response.

 

“Ah, so we are in agreement! In that case, would you care to join me for dinner? It has been a long day, and I believe we are both quite hungry.”

 

As if to agree, your stomach gives an eager growl. You laugh awkwardly. 

 

The feeling that suddenly comes over you makes you severely uncomfortable. 

Your stomach inexplicably twists itself into a knot of nauseating fear. Something in your mind beats so fiercely against the king's suggestion ( _ **DON'T**_ ) that you have to physically hold yourself in place so that you don't sway from how dizzy it's making you. 

Well, _this_ is new and awful. What the fuck is going on _now_?

 

You realize you've taken a few moments too long to reply. You pray your voice doesn't betray your inner alarm.

 

“Oh, um...sounds good. But do you mind if we just eat at the place inside the hotel? These heels are killing me and I don't want to pay for a cab.”

 

And that's how you ended up at a five-star restaurant with your boss.

 

\------

 

You're not having a bad time, but you still wish it were a certain skeleton sitting across from you at the intimately small table instead of the king. You're not surprised by the message you see when you check your phone.

 

**Sans <3** | **8:11 P.M.**  
_working late tonight_

 

Thank you, Captain Obvious. You lock your phone without responding, turning your attention to your surroundings. Best not to think too long on that. Have to try to be present. 

 

And what a place in which to be present. This restaurant is the swankiest you've ever seen, alive with glasses clinking and live music and laughter. It reminds you of Mettaton's place back in the Underground, but much more crowded and even fancier; the high ceilings are adorned with twinkling crystalline chandeliers and one of the immense walls is composed entirely of ornate windows, overlooking the gorgeously illuminated city. 

 

The music appears to be coming from a tuxedo'd four-piece jazz ensemble set up in the far corner, swinging through a lot of songs you recognize, and a crowd of well-dressed patrons is showing their appreciation by dancing. Oh, how you long to dance. 

 

It all really is breathtakingly beautiful and succeeds in distracting you from your woes momentarily. You've forgotten your unhappiness for the first time since you left home and feel a bit lighter. It's a relief, to say the least. 

 

While waiting for your prohibitively expensive meals to arrive, Asgore is chattering away animatedly about the day's events. He can't wait to report your dual achievements to Toriel and the rest of the Embassy, and eagerly awaits the next round of talks to be given tomorrow, especially yours. You're still not convinced that there's anything good to be gleaned from the conference so far, but you can't keep a slight smile from touching your lips at the king's endearing energy.

 

You want to be excited too, but you find you can't shake the remnants of that strong discomfort from earlier. You're not quite used to the churning swarm of activity your thoughts have become over the last few days; bad thoughts rise without warning to the surface of your murky mind and there's nothing you can do to stop them.

 

It's making it hard to pay attention, but you make a show of listening intently to the monster at your table. 

 

“And, my child, do not worry about your speech. I am extremely confident that you will continue to exemplify the best that both humans and monsters have to offer.”

 

Before you have a chance to thank him, the king's lion-esque face becomes unexpectedly drawn, terse. He swirls the drink in his unfittingly delicate glass thoughtfully, and all you can do is wait and wonder. Finally, he brings his eyes up to yours, filled with what can only be described as shame. 

 

“If you will permit me, my child, I have something important I wish to tell you.”

 

You're visibly startled by the sudden and sullen entreaty, but curiosity makes you nod for him to continue. Asgore sighs, placing the drink next to his empty plate and knitting his substantial clawed hands together to rest on the table. The jazz quartet starts into “Serenade in Blue” across the room and your heart pines for Sans as the familiar doleful melody about long-gone love rings out. 

 

The king begins to speak and you return your full attention to him with some effort, head and heart equally weary of all the effort they've had to expend today. This whole week, actually. You want to go to bed. Your own bed. Sans' is probably empty and it doesn't smell like him anymore anyway. 

 

( _focus_ )

 

“My child, I...I am not sure how to put this. It is something that has been on my mind for a long time. Truthfully, since before we came to the surface. But your melancholy the last few days has led me to believe that you would benefit from my speaking to you about it now,” he says with quietly but with resolution. “My words may not mean much now, but I must...I must apologize for what I did.”

 

You just watch him, not comprehending at first. Then it dawns on you: oh right, the guy sitting across from you? He _killed_ you. At least, you think he did. You don't remember it too well. And, according to Toriel, five other humans before you. This must be what your brain was trying to remind you of earlier in the car. How could you possibly have forgotten, even for a moment?

You should have known your good mood wouldn't last. Why does he have to bring this up now?

 

“I was...after my children were lost to the humans, I was not in my right mind. All I cared about was breaking free from the mountain and exacting revenge on those who had so wronged my wife and I. I am not sure that I was even thinking of my subjects,” he continues, downcast eyes wet now. “I could not react with grace as Toriel did. My grief was considerably more...violent. As you came to know. And for that, I...” 

Asgore stops, grimacing. 

 

His eyes reflect the flame of the candle on the table along with years of unspeakable grief. The king collects himself enough to go on after a moment and your heart is hurting for him even though you're growing more uncomfortable by the second. 

 

“For that, I apologize. I am so, so sorry. I know there is nothing I could possibly say or do to repent for my sins. I think...I think I _knew_ I could destroy the barrier with the first Soul, I just...I...”

Asgore pauses again, seemingly overcome with emotion.

 

And, for some reason, you can _not_ bring yourself to console him. What is going on with you? Normally, you would have done so in a heartbeat. You would have told him not to worry about it, that he did what he thought he had to, something, anything.

 

At the moment, though, you're too busy trying not to think about the hot flash of agony as your body poured forth its contents in the overgrown throne room, gleaming as red as the trident that produced them. 

Trying not to think about how you lost almost a year of time to nothingness, waiting for Frisk to complete the mission Toriel had originally given to you.

Trying not to think about how, once you woke up again, you were in a different place in a different month with no memory of how you got there. The thinly-veiled contempt in Sans' dark sockets whenever they happened to alight on the king for the next few months was hard to miss, but you wanted to move on and start over so you never asked.

Trying not to think about how hard it was to get to sleep for weeks after you emerged from the mountain, and how, before he got really busy at work, Sans was always around to soothe you to sleep. The empty blackness of unconsciousness is still unsettling, still keeps you from getting anything resembling restful sleep.

Trying not to think about the fact that Toriel told you he could have crossed the barrier with just _one_ Soul so why, why did he kill you, why did he _murder_ all of those _children_ -

 

Wait, how the fuck do you remember that so well all of a sudden?

 

“Your Highness,” you force yourself to blurt out at last, but he waves away the formality. “Asgore. I...I don't think we should talk about this.” 

 

Your voice and body are starting to quiver uncontrollably. A cold sweat is prickling your clammy skin. You feel dizzy again, like you're going to pass out. There's a searing pain deep in your chest and you can't breathe what is happening what is happening _what is happening!!_

 

Asgore is taken aback. He doesn't understand. He looks nervous as he reaches out to you ( _don't touch me_ ).

 

“My child, what-”

 

( _ **DON'T TOUCH ME!**_ )

 

You shoot up from your chair.

 

“Excuse me,” you force yourself to say through clenched teeth. You might vomit if you open your mouth right now.

 

( _leave_ )

 

( _leave NOW_ )

 

You toss all the cash in your wallet onto the table and hurry to the door, ignoring the stares of the other patrons, ignoring Asgore calling your name.

 

You burst into the lobby of the hotel, drawing more glances from the people milling around. You don't look at them, just dash for the huge spinning door to the outside.

 

The headlights of dozens of expensive cars shine bright, too bright, right into your eyes as you burst out of the building and onto the crowded street. The humid, hot air is suffocating. You feel like your throat is going to rupture, it's so dry. 

 

Wobbling on your feet, you make your way toward the sound of waves, toward the ramp beside the hotel that leads down to the private beach ( _go somewhere doesn't matter just get away from here_ ). Someone barks out that you should sober up as you stumble past to a chorus of whoops and catcalls. 

 

You trip and fall onto your hands and knees midway down the concrete ramp to the oceanfront, ripping the knees out of your stockings. 

 

( _can't stop now_ )

 

Your feet touch the cool sand and you lose your heels running through it. Brambles in the dunes tear at your legs and shell fragments bite at your soles. At the edge of the pitch-black water, you can't run any more. You careen to the ground with a sob, knees and palms digging into the sand.

 

And your mind is mercifully silent.

 

You cradle your knees, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. You attempt to tell yourself it will be okay, but your mind rejects the idea instantly, almost derisively. Inhale, exhale.

 

Slowly, slowly, you get a grip. Finally, the world begins to expand beyond your own private panic.

 

You're totally alone here, save for a couple of teenagers necking on a far-away pier. Nothing but the roar of distant traffic and the gentle lapping of the waves and your own labored breathing. Heat lightning pierces soundlessly through the smoggy sky in fantastic purple bolts. The pitch-black sea reflects this and the waning moon, too dim to see more than a few feet over the water's choppy surface. 

 

You can't believe what just happened.

 

What _did_ just happen? It's a little fuzzy.

 

Asgore wanted to talk about your encounter with him at his castle, for some reason. Tried to apologize for what he did to you. And all of a sudden, you started... _remembering_. 

 

You didn't know it was possible, but you just remembered what it felt like to die.

 

The tears should be coming now, hot and fast, but all you can do is stare out at the sea. That ache in the center of your chest has dulled a little, but it's still in a worrying amount of pain. Every cell in your body is crying out for Sans.

 

God _damn_ it, none of this would have happened if he'd been here.

 

Instinctively, hand shaking, you reach for your phone. It's sitting on the restaurant table.

 

( _there wouldn't be any messages anyway, you know that_ )

 

You don't know how long you sit there, but it feels like hours.

 

Just when you're starting to regain feeling in your limbs, a small voice pierces through your haze, uncomfortably close.

 

“Are you alright, ma'am?”

 

You whirl around to see an elderly man approaching, worry etched into the lines of his face. The rest of his party waits at the top of the ramp, watching with various degrees of impatience.

 

( _get away from me_ )

 

“I'm fine,” you mutter, standing briskly and moving past him. You collect your shoes from the bottom of the ramp and make the long walk back to your room.

 

\------

 

God, you look and feel like shit. 

 

When you inspect yourself in the tall mirror back in your suite, the sight is one to behold. Blouse and skirt filthy, stockings tattered, legs all banged up. Your makeup is everywhere. Whatever.

 

You plop down on the bed, feeling so totally spent that you hardly feel anything at all. That's when you spot your phone on the floor by the door. Someone apparently slid it under from the hallway. There's a note taped to it.

 

_My child,_

_Please accept my humble apology for upsetting you so. Do not worry about returning to the conference again until you are well. I will inform the attendees that you will address them later this week._

_Sincerely,_

_Asgore_

 

Oh great, now you feel even worse, if that's even possible. How in the world are you supposed to face him tomorrow? You feel marginally better than you did when you ran off, but still, it's going to be embarrassing as hell to try to explain yourself. You decide to tell him you got food poisoning.

 

You check your phone. Nothing.

 

You chuck it across the room and make yourself a blanket cocoon, sandy clothes and all, determined to put this evening behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hit me with your thoughts, critiques, suggestions, etc. I love reading and responding to it all. :>
> 
> If you'd like to read the backstory I personally imagine for Reader, check [ this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827) out. (Not necessary though.)


	5. I Fall to Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You give your speech without incident and everyone loves it and monsters are immediately granted equal rights and your boyfriend finally calls you.
> 
> (Not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sans will be in this story. 
> 
> Can't believe I have the audacity to write a Sans/reader fic where Sans hasn't shown up by the 5th chapter? Me either.

The alarm on your phone blares from where it landed by the bathroom, startling you awake. The sun beaming through the curtains is warm and inviting.

 

You notice immediately that you're feeling much better. You can't explain it, but that crushing terror from last night is gone. You can breathe easily and your head is clear. Oh, thank _goodness_.

 

You rush to get ready, dressing in the nicest outfit you packed, and catch Asgore on his way out of the lobby. The way his eyes brighten with relief at the sight of you is really uplifting. When you try to apologize, he just smiles and shakes his head, gesturing for the door. You're supremely grateful that he doesn't expect an explanation.

 

Without the malaise of the last few days, especially of last night, hanging over you, you feel like you might actually have a chance of turning this conference around. Then, you remember.

 

You have to deliver that speech today. 

 

Like, right when you get there.

 

Dammit, you'd wanted to run through it alone and with the king at least a few more times before...shit.

 

You scramble for your notepad, hands beginning to quiver. No, no, calm down. Deep breaths. Just remember the hours of practice you already did in the mirror back home. Close your eyes while you're talking if you have to. Just keep it under control. 

 

You can _not_ fuck this up. You _won't_.

 

Long before the car pulls up to the conference center, you know it's not going to be easy getting in. News must have spread, because there are easily twice the number of people and cameras and microphones than there were during the first few days. 

 

To his credit, the usually oblivious king looks a touch troubled. He asks the driver to take the two of you around to one of the side entrances, but it's too late. Some protesters on the edge of the swarming group notice the car pulling up and in an instant you're being overrun. They're blocking the street, making it impossible for you to get any closer. Is that you whimpering? Where the fuck are the police?

 

They want you to give up. They want you and your ideas to flee back to Ebott. And you'd really, really love to give them what they want right about now. But Asgore puts the thought out of your head.

 

“My child, it pains me to suggest it, but I believe our best bet is to attempt to reach the front entrance,” he announces, clawed hand on the door handle, eyes serious. You can't do anything but nod meekly. He touches your shoulder as a gesture of reassurance and opens the door to madness.

 

“Friends, please make a path,” Asgore commands the crowd in the most frightening voice you've ever heard him use. The plea is only marginally successful. He has to continue forward by force. You stick as close as possible to the hulking monster, holding your breath.

 

A wild-eyed woman comes at you out of nowhere, brandishing a sign with some religious verse painted on it in red, screeching about monsters being demons from hell. You can't stop the scream that tears out of you when she lunges toward you, clawing at your blouse crazily. She succeeds in ripping it, a few buttons popping off uselessly, and looks as if she might attack you with her sign until she simply disappears. 

 

Asgore has turned and pushed the wailing woman out of the way more firmly than gently, with a dangerous expression, a ferocity that chills you to the core ( _just like that day in the throne room no don't think about that_ ), and takes you easily into his solid arms.

 

Before you can process what just happened, you're being deposited onto the floor of the building's entryway. You stay balanced, but just barely, and the monster monarch supports you. The roaring crowd is now muffled by the heavy-duty glass separating them from you. When you look up at Asgore with wide eyes, he's smiling placidly like nothing happened. How does he do that? He doesn't give you time to thank him, or to worry too much about the fact that hundreds of cameras just captured his less-than-amiable behavior.

 

“Come, my child," he says, guiding you forward. "We are all in great anticipation of your words.”

 

You can only swallow in response.

 

The corridor to the press chamber is so long it's criminal. Way too much time stuck in your own head.

 

( _it's not too late to drop out_ )

( _you didn't make any promises_ )

( _you're just going to fuck everything up for everyone_ )

( _you didn't practice enough_ )

( _and you aren't even going to change any minds_ )

( _you're trying to do right by these monsters that tried to kill you_ )

( _it wasn't just asgore don't forget it was all of them ALL OF THEM TRIED TO KILL YOU_ )

 

( _why aren't you stopping? why won't you listen to reason?_ )

 

The instant you timidly push open the double doors, hundreds of cameras are flashing. Your head aches.

 

( _make eye contact_ )

( _smile, can't you even do that much?_ )

 

You can't. You're too terrified. You forgot your blouse has a huge tear down the front. You stumble up the couple steps to the podium.

 

The packed hall is buzzing with live news reports and the sounds all overlap unpleasantly, “Coming to you live from-” “-the acting Monster Ambassador, who-” “-a passionate plea for equality-” “-let's listen in.”

 

Then, the room is absolutely silent, save a few shutter snaps. It's also incredibly warm. You shift uncomfortably. You glance instinctively at the king, standing to your right, and he just gives you a patient smile that strikes you as fatherly. Unfortunately, it doesn't make you feel any more confident.

 

( _well, you made your bed..._ )

 

Face front. Clear your throat. Deep breath. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen...”

 

That's it, you've started, now the next line, 'I appear before you today to discuss the road to equal rights for monsterkind...'

 

Come on, why can't you say anything?

 

( _...now lie in it._ )

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I...”

 

( _pathetic, **weak**_ )

 

You can feel _something_ wriggling forcefully in your brain, but that's not possible, brains don't have nerve endings. Black sparks dance at the edges of your vision. Your pores prickle with cold sweat. Bile rises in your throat, burning. 

 

It's just like back in the hotel. Fuck, not this again. Not _now_.

 

Murmurs begin filling the giant room. Countless members of local and national news organizations eye you curiously ( _judging_ ). Asgore looks a little nervous. You can't do anything but stare at the lectern in front of you, begging your own mind to show mercy.

 

That's when it hits you, with such impact that you have to grip the podium for balance until your knuckles are white.

 

Your mind assaults you with revolting hallucinations, more grotesque than you would have ever thought it possible for you to conjure.

 

Toriel's sweet face gawking horribly while being slashed open, staining the lovely white fur redredred.

 

“I-I appear before you...”

 

Papyrus' battle body sitting shattered and empty in the swirling snow. 

 

“...appear before you today to, um...”

 

Undyne taking a savage blow for...it looks like the Monster Kid...and melting?

 

“...to discuss the imp-importance, no, the, uh...”

 

Muffet's tinkling laughter cut from her throat by a sharp stick. Mettaton smashed and discarded easily like a broken toy, Alphys hunched next to the wreckage, sobbing. Asgore toppling to one knee as he's blasted into dust, his dissolving face so betrayed, so fearful...

 

That. SOUND.

 

High-pitched ringing echoes through the cavernous room, like an inhuman chorus of violin strings being scraped in a pulsing, wailing, insectoid cacophony. Your own heartbeat thundering deafeningly in your pounding head. 

 

The faces in the crowd watch your failure with malicious delight, so pious, so cruel, beginning to swirl together sickeningly.

 

And at the end of it all, a vision of a ring of bright blue light burning furiously in dark sockets before everything lights up blinding white and the pain the PAIN. 

 

Your legs give out.

 

As the world closes in around you, the gasps and shouts and movements of the crowd don't quite drown out someone's gleeful snickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized how short all these chapters are. Wow.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's purposely weathering this storm with me. 
> 
> As always, please give me your thoughts/suggestions/etc!
> 
> If you'd like to read the backstory I personally imagine for Reader, check [ this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827) out.


	6. I Had the Craziest Dream

It's dark in here.

 

You have the faintest feeling of standing but see nothing to stand on; all you perceive is the featureless black void that stretches on forever in all directions.

 

That horrible indistinct buzzing is filling the air again, midway between bees and static. It's so loud that you think the soundwaves could physically crush your head.

 

In the center of your vision, a single yellow flower bobs gently in a nonexistent breeze.

 

A bright, impossibly yellow bloom, just like...

 

“Flowey?” 

 

The flower doesn't respond and remains inanimate. No shrieking, toothy face.

 

Then, absolute silence.

 

( _Finally._ )

 

Dread crawls up your body like a rising tide, threatening to drown you. A new voice that's not yours, one with no discernible source yet which comes from everywhere. You can't turn to see who it belongs to, but you recognize the feeling it gives you immediately.

 

( _I can finally talk to you._ )

 

( _Took me a while, but I got through._ )

 

The voice warps and flexes, splits into two, no three, voices at once and back again. It's high and cold, then low and threatening, child then adult. Almost like someone's testing their limits.

 

Words escape you. You're paralyzed. Eons stretch by before you're addressed again.

 

( _You know, it's funny, but you weren't my first choice. I already tried with that kid._ )

 

( _But their mind wasn't weak enough. Too much Determination._ ) 

 

( _Reminds me of myself._ )

 

That same chuckle, like a bratty kid's, that you heard in the press room echoes through the darkness. But this can't be a child. This voice is much too bitter and self-aware.

 

( _But_ you.) 

 

( _You basically let me right in. Honestly, I'm a little confused, but who would pass up an opportunity like this?_ )

 

( _Normally, you're_ just _strong enough to shut me out. But here, like this, when your guard's down, and without that stupid comedian to distract you..._ )

 

Sans materializes in front of you for the briefest instant, winking and saying something you can't hear, but swirls into mist before you can grab for him.

 

( _Stop that._ I'm _in control here._ )

 

( _He can't pull himself away from work long enough to send you one measly text anyway, remember? I mean, really, what is it going to take before you realize...you know what, nevermind._ )

 

( _Let's focus._ )

 

( _I could probably have more fun if I were more vague and mysterious, but forget it, I don't have that kind of time. Especially with you being so far from Ebott._ )

 

( _It's why I had to resort to such drastic measures. Had to make it so you'd go home right away._ )

 

( _That time with Asgore in the restaurant could have been a fluke, so I needed to make sure._ )

 

( _Anyway, now that I know I can speak to you directly, the next few days are going to be interesting. You can count on_ that.)

 

( _You think things have been bad recently?_ ) 

 

( _Well, welcome to hell._ )

 

And the golden flower comes to life like you'd feared it would, growing impossibly large, unhinging the fanged jaws it suddenly has and devouring you whole.

 

\----

 

You wake with a start under an unfamiliar ceiling. 

 

That awful, stomach-churning fear still hangs over you and doesn't seem to have faded with the visions. Your mouth is dry, your skin is clammy, and that swimmy sensation in your head seems to be sticking around. 

 

Aren't bad dreams supposed to end when you wake up? And also not come while you're awake?

 

Is this your reality now? Just feeling like shit all the time? And...hallucinating? Is _that_ what it was?

 

When you sense a figure crouched next to you, you sit up with a sharp breath. A cool, damp cloth plops into your lap, which appears to be engulfed in the king's suit jacket. 

 

You've never seen this room before, and you've sure as hell never seen the woman seated next to you before, either. She turns toward you when she notices your movement and smiles awkwardly, slipping the phone she was looking at into her pocket. She opens her mouth, but you cut her off.

 

“Where's Asgore?”

 

She gestures apologetically toward the door, which is open to a hallway you recognize. Well, at least you're still in the conference center. “He went out to make a phone call. Said he'd be back in a minute.”

 

Okay, so you're hopefully in reality and not in that terrible dream...or whatever...anymore, even if you still feel like you are. What the actual fuck was _that_ all about?

 

All those awful thoughts...so vivid that they almost felt like memories. Your head hurts. 

 

Then, you remember the speech you were supposed to give. Damn it all, you didn't even make it past the first sentence. You've got to get back there. You go to stand.

 

“Hey, maybe you should lie back down. Paramedics're on the way,” the woman cautions, touching your arm softly. When her hand alights on your bare skin, all you can think about is that it's not Sans' thin, smooth hand and it feels so fleshy and wrong so you shrug it off instinctively.

 

She backs off and gives you a little space. You don't say anything, just look around the darkened boardroom and feel the deep burn of shame.

 

You figured your speech would be amateur - you've never been one for public speaking - but _passing out on national television_? 

 

You draw your knees up to your chest and look out the massive window beside you, trying not to embarrass yourself even further by crying. The world outside goes on in the bright sunlight, unaware of you and your problems. Your eyes, itchy and tired, come to rest on the woman in the room with you. 

 

You know you should thank her for keeping an eye on you, but you just can't do it. You want Sans. You miss him so much. 

 

“How long was I out?” is what you settle on asking, turning your head away in case your breath smells as bad as it tastes.

 

“An hour, tops,” she reports, pulling a bottle of water from her bag and handing it to you. “And you were making some pretty weird noises the whole time.”

 

You pause your sip to look at her questioningly. She rushes to explain.

 

“Um, I mean. Like you were really scared. Or something. The big guy was awfully worried about you.”

 

The woman explains that, when you went down, Asgore immediately picked up your unconscious body and carried you to this room, ordering the clamoring reporters to stay where they were. This woman, an intern with one of the news agencies, managed to break free from the raucous crowd and follow the king, admitting with some guilt that she was hoping to get the first shot at an obviously dramatic story. Asgore had carefully arranged you by this window, covered you in his blazer, commanded the woman to keep watch and call for help, and returned to the chamber where the agitated journalists waited.

 

Then, using the notes you'd left behind, Asgore delivered your speech to the waiting world.

 

( _first frisk and now asgore will others always have to do your work for you?_ )

 

You try to push the unwelcome, intrusive thought down, but aren't surprised to find that you just aren't strong enough now. You have no choice but to let the resulting wave of shame crash over your battered body. Your weird dream is coming true, apparently. 

 

The woman is talking about how the press reacted, the way Asgore wouldn't take any questions until he was sure you were alright, the way he watched over you while telling her all about your work for the Embassy. You just curl your knees closer to you, hugging them tight. She doesn't say anything after that, just pats your hand once with a look of pity.

 

Home. You've got to go home. You can't take the stress or the pressure anymore. It might actually kill you. You have to see Sans, get some perspective, anything-

 

A distinctly inhuman figure is suddenly towering in the doorway. 

 

Without a word or any sign of hesitation, Asgore crosses the empty room in two sweeping strides and drops to one knee in front of you. You find yourself encircled in the immense arms of the King of All Monsters. You can only sit there, much too small in comparison to try returning the embrace. Warmth and gratitude try and fail to pierce your mental fog.

 

A startling amount of something warm drips onto your blouse, soaking the back of it immediately. Is the king...crying? 

 

When he finally pulls away, your suspicion is confirmed. Asgore produces a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wipes at his red eyes, then gives his snout an almost comical blow. He seems at a loss for words for the time being, preferring to simply look into your face without a hint of disappointment, a too-compassionate look that forces you to turn your head in humiliation.

 

“Your Majesty,” the woman begins quietly, seemingly not wanting to interrupt the tender moment, but is corrected by the king. “Uh, Asgore, sir...I called EMS. They got stuck in traffic, but they should be here in a few minutes.”

 

The king nods, then turns his attention back to you. 

 

“I confess, I may have overreacted a bit,” Asgore sighs, and pulls his collar away from his neck sheepishly. “Forgive me, it is easy to forget that humans are much more durable than us monsters.”

 

The look on his face leads you to believe that there's more to this story.

 

“I, erm. I may have mistakenly given Sans the impression that you had...Fallen Down.”

 

You smack a hand to your forehead at lightning speed, bottom of your stomach falling. 

 

“Oh, _Asgore_...”

 

He looks genuinely remorseful and tries to continue, but you aren't listening as your hands dart for the phone in your pocket. Sure enough, the number of missed calls is in the double digits and the number of texts doubles that. Sans' name is at the top of the list.

 

You don't bother to check the senders of any of the other messages, instead jabbing Sans' picture to call him back. Your heart is racing. Dammit, you've been wanting him to call you so badly, but not under these circumstances. You've got to let him know you're alright, that Asgore was exaggerating, that he doesn't need to worry.

 

Voicemail.

 

Fucking...seriously?

 

You look at the screen incredulously for a moment and try again.

 

In the corner of your eye, you see Asgore knitting and unknitting his paws nervously, not unlike the way Alphys does.

 

Then, on the final ring, you hear his voice.

 

“babe?” he says, sounding out of breath.

 

Just hearing him is enough to force you up on your feet, instinctively ready to run to him even though he's thousands of miles away, but you think it's best to stay seated at the moment.

 

And your thoughts are free of darkness.

 

“Sans,” you blurt out, ”Sans, I'm okay.”

 

He answered. He stopped working. He was worried. He _does_ care. 

 

Sans responds, in a voice much more casual than expected, “i know, asgore already called. said you'd had a fall but that you were fine.”

 

You're a little stunned, uncertain of what to say to that. You thought Asgore had told him you were basically on death's door? But...'fine'? You're not sure when is the best time in a relationship to admit to your significant other that you're being bullied by a voice in your head that shows you the mangled bodies of his friends and family. Probably never.

 

Before you can say anything, Sans begins speaking to someone else. “what? no, i'm- huh? it's doing _what_? shit, alright, i'll be right there.”

 

Then, his voice is closer, more rattled. “sorry, babe, i've gotta go. i'm real glad you're doing okay. i'll see you when you get back.”

 

Then the line goes dead.

 

You hang up, hand falling lifelessly into your lap. You take it back. Oh, he cares, alright. Cares about that stupid job and nothing else. You feel so insignificant and so, so alone.

 

“My child...,” Asgore clears his throat, and you slowly turn to him, hurt clear on your face. The intern watches near the door, looking bewildered. “I was trying to tell you, I succeeded in clearing things up. Sans' intention was to buy the first plane ticket he could to come and see you...but I thought it best, since the work he is doing is so very important...”

 

Asgore trails off, but he didn't need to finish anyway. Sans isn't coming. He's too busy. 

 

You're not sure how much more of this your heart can take. Where do you turn when your biggest source of strength won't support you?

 

You sit limply on the floor, only half-listening, while Asgore explains, with his best soothing tone and a hand on your shoulder, that he'll have you on the next flight back home. That you shouldn't worry because Toriel is already on her way to take your place. That no one's really watching that news coverage anyway.

 

When the paramedics arrive, you demonstrate your ability to walk and talk and stubbornly wave them away despite Asgore's protests. You don't feel the grabbing hands or sharp words of the jeering crowd outside as you push your way to the car, too far ahead of the king for him to try to help you. 

 

You don't know if you can forgive him for convincing Sans to stay in Ebott. But then, it probably didn't take a whole lot of convincing, did it? Maybe you shouldn't forgive either of them. Not that they'd notice.

 

You pack your things haphazardly, continue to ignore your phone buzzing away in your pocket when you realize it's not going to be Sans, it's never going to be Sans, and ride silently to the airport. 

 

Sitting in the packed terminal, the banal conversations of passersby that you can't help but hear make you grind your teeth in irritation.

 

“Chelsea's pregnant again, I'm going to fucking kill myself...”

 

“...and I told Kyle, I said, 'if you cheat on me with her one more time'...”

 

“...my boss is such a bitch, we can't even look at our phones...”

 

So vapid. It makes you angry that these people seem insistent on polluting the air with their pointless stories, yet they can't bring themselves to even consider a world in which monsters could be their equals. You don't realize you're biting your tongue until you taste blood.

 

The televisions hanging all around the airport are blasting various reports of the conference, currently showing a severely flustered Asgore struggling to answer reporters' questions with no one to help field them. But, of course, this is all interspersed with clips of your fainting spell, repeating your humiliation ad nauseum in glorious 1080p from every possible angle while armchair politicians give color commentary. 

 

And the people surrounding you just can't seem to help themselves, they just have to loudly announce their opinions on what they're seeing - “Man, I wish these stupid monsters would just give up and fuck off back underground. No one wants 'em here anyway.” 

 

“I bet that ambassador chick's only representing them because she's a nasty monster fucker. Needs a good human dick to set her straight.”

 

“I heard they lured human kids down to their cave and ate them. And now this dumb bitch is trying to help them get more? What's this world coming to?”

 

And you can't control the awful thoughts about what you'd do to these people if given the chance. Your mind doesn't even need to harass you now – humans are doing it perfectly all on their own. You don't know what to do about it. You're too tired to cry, too tired to fight anymore. Seems your only option is to withdraw, let yourself sink further into feeling nothing. Better that way. Safer. Easier.

 

And somehow, you have the knowledge, like an ancient, terrible truth, that you have no other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you think things are going so far - would love to hear your feedback/questions! Thanks to all those who have posted so far. I love talking to you on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Next chapter may be a little while; I want to be real careful about proceeding since I could easily mess up ~~and probably already have~~ and make things too vague/weird/uninteresting etc.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Way Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reach your limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra-long chapter for you lovely folks.

God, you've never been more pissed that replying to Embassy emails is part of your job. The official inbox has exploded in the few hours since Asgore delivered your speech to the nation.

 

Scrolling through the first few messages reveals probably deceitfully heartfelt pleas from the offices of several politicians. They're all offering public endorsement of monster equality in exchange for the King's support. Why they'd care about the King's opinion, when monsters can't even vote, is beyond you. Just vultures looking for the next carcass. The number of emails is dizzying and ever-increasing.

 

Among the messages you bother to check, you're not surprised to discover several death and rape threats directed solely at you. The one time someone other than the voice in your head wants to talk to you, it's to tell you that they know where you live and are coming to kill you.

 

Why can't everyone just leave you alone? Whatever, you'll deal with this shit later.

 

While you're looking at your phone, you figure you might as well remove the '<3' from Sans' name in your contacts. You've been thinking about doing it even before the conference. It feels childish to even see that symbol there now.

 

You decide it isn't worth checking your phone any more during the endless flight, despite the large number of texts that continue to pour in, until it makes an unfamiliar sound.

 

To your amazement, it's a notification from your old Undernet account, the one Alphys set up for you way back when you were underground. Sheesh, you haven't used that thing in forever. Sheer curiosity wins out.

 

It turns out to be a picture Papyrus posted, one you and Sans are tagged in. It's of Arial lying on her belly by the brothers' front door, looking rather dejected. He's captioned it: “MISSING OUR FRIENDS”.

 

There's a list of monsters who have liked the post and, lo and behold, Sans' username is at the top of the list. You know there's a funny story behind how the pup, a rescued remnant of the Underground, ended up with that name. You can't seem to remember it now.

 

Not that you really feel like waxing nostalgic right now anyway. It's easy to get lost in the clouds racing by outside your window. To just check out and let things happen. Your mind's defense mechanisms must be kicking in or something. Too little, too late.

\-----

Well, this is it.

 

Back to Ebott, where the sun isn't constantly trying to fry you to death. Where people are much less vocal about hating monsters because said monsters are all around them. Where a greeting party has apparently gathered in your honor.

 

When you step off the plane and come around the corner into the comparatively tiny airport lobby, you hear your name being shouted among celebratory whoops and hollers. Your head snaps up to see a multicolored pack of familiar, ecstatic faces rushing toward you, crashing into you with considerable force. Sans isn't among them, of course.

 

( _Come on, it's time to give up on that asshole._ )

 

But somehow, even though you've been homesick all week, even though there's a crowd of monsters lavishing you with praise and attention, raving about how proud they are, it just doesn't feel like a homecoming. All you can seem to see and hear are the disapproving stares and mocking whispers of people walking by.

 

( _You failed them. These monsters counted on you, and you choked._ )

 

( _They're just trying to make you feel better about yourself._ )

 

Papyrus seems to be at the helm of the gathering.

 

“ENOUGH PHYSICAL AFFECTION!” he announces, beaming. “WE MUST NOW ESCORT OUR TRIUMPHANT AMBASSADOR TO THE ULTRA-SECRET SURPRISE PARTY™ [he actually says 'tm' aloud], WHICH WE HAVE LOVINGLY ARRANGED IN HER HONOR!”

 

While Undyne shouts at Papyrus for ruining the surprise, which devolves into a noogie war, you just wish they didn't have to be so _loud_. If they didn't make themselves so conspicuous, if they just laid low, humans might actually be sympathetic to them and the fight for equality would be so much easier.

\----

The party Papyrus mentioned turns out to be a picnic set up on a picturesque, grassy hill overlooking Ebott Town. And far down at the bottom of the hill, the lab where Sans is too busy working to come see you like he said he would. You look dimly at the barbed-wire fence surrounding it and the tiny, high windows and vaguely hope Sans can see you up here, and that he feels bad.

 

Practically every monster you've ever met is here, cramming their various strangely-shaped bodies into a cluster of picnic tables and chatting happily. Upon seeing you step out of the cab that brought you and some of the others from the airport, a new round of accolades is activated. You're surrounded by another loud, joyous bunch of monsters with all manner of hands and claws and paws rubbing your shoulder and honestly, it's...pretty exhausting.

 

If they knew you'd imagined ( _remembered_ ) half of them being brutally murdered while you were failing to give the speech that might have saved them, they wouldn't have gone to all this trouble. But no, as the Snowdin library taught you, their Souls are the embodiment of compassion and kindness or something, so they insist on putting on cheerful faces and expecting you to do the same.

 

You don't even consider touching the cornucopia of food laid out, even though some of your favorite monster dishes are there. Grillby is even manning the barbecue. Hunger and thirst just turn to nausea in your gut.

 

You barely perceive Muffett's six hands fluttering around you ( _don't touch me_ ), telling you that if you even think of coming back to work this week, she'll tie you up in webs and feed you to her pet cupcake.

 

After a while, movement further up the hill catches your eye.

 

Headed toward the gathering, backpack still on from school, is Frisk. Undyne trails behind, looking peeved as she talks sharply into her phone.

 

Maybe this party won't be a total loss. Frisk may be younger than you, but you're the only two humans to ever have survived a trip through the caverns of Mt. Ebott. That common ground has usually made it slightly easier for you to talk to them than the average human.

 

And oh lord, Toriel would _kill_ Undyne if she saw what the fish woman had let Frisk wear to school – they're in a goth phase that the goat woman thoroughly disapproves of, and now that she's gone and Frisk is staying with Undyne, they've pulled out all the stops. Frisk looks like a Hot Topic deity. You can't help but smirk and shake your head.

 

( _God, I'm bored._ )

 

You watch as the teenager runs up to the party, greeting and being greeted by everyone ( _They like Frisk better._ ), and tosses their backpack to the ground. With a mischievous grin, they pull two Nerf guns from it.

 

You watch Frisk call out for Sans, eager to begin one of their infamous Nerf battles. An inexplicable little rush of satisfaction comes over you as their face falls when Papyrus explains that his brother won't be coming.

 

You've always sensed that Frisk has a crush on your boyfriend. Frisk doesn't open up much for anyone – they're at a tough age – but Sans is always an exception. It's never bothered you before now.

 

Mettaton, apparently taking a break from mugging for cameras, struts in out of nowhere with an elaborate cake. He asks you to cut it, and you agree before Undyne can offer, preferring to avoid being covered in globs of it.

 

While you pass out dessert, he babbles incessantly close at your side about how you'll be the guest of honor at the next taping of one of his talk shows. You can just feel yourself getting more and more annoyed and fight the urge to tell the flamboyant ghost ( _His only fans are monsters. He should just give it up, the washed-up tin can._ ) to leave you alone.

 

Oh, what's the point? They're all too thick to get the hint anyway.

 

Eventually you manage to separate yourself from all the noise and overstimulation. Undyne explaining to Mad Dummy that they can't use knives at a Nerf gun fight is as good a time to leave as any.

 

You notice Frisk had the same idea, sitting further down the verdant hill with their legs curled up to their chest in a solemn pose that reminds you of yourself. For some reason, your mind is allowing you to feel a touch of something resembling concern for the kid.

 

You approach hesitantly and sit beside them in silence when they don't protest your presence, joining them in looking out over the little valley town below. It's admittedly very pretty, awash in the warm tones of sunset. Mount Ebott looms dark green in the distance, and you wonder hazily how the monsters feel about having a reminder of their imprisonment constantly framing their view.

 

“Have you ever felt like you weren't yourself?”

 

The question is so sudden that you flinch. You look over at Frisk, who's still staring into space with an inscrutable expression. You can't help but smile when you notice they're wearing Undyne's combat boots.

 

Your recently glib thoughts are oddly silent now, but something is making you feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden, like you should leave this conversation. Right now.

 

Frisk looks at you for the first time today, still resting their head on their knees, scrutinizing you.

 

“You know, like there's someone in your head that's not you?”

 

Then their expression changes without warning. The penetrating look in their suddenly wide, unblinking eyes paralyzes something inside you, down to the Soul, and you can't look away. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

 

A broad smile stretches across Frisk's face.

 

“Just kidding! I figured I had to say something edgy to go with my outfit.”

 

Your heart is still racing, but you have no idea how to address what just happened. You think you might have imagined it.

 

Frisk holds up the phone that Toriel finally gave in and bought them.

 

“Wanna take a selfie?”

 

You only see the strikingly dark circles under your eyes, the gauntness of your face, after they've snapped the picture. When did you start looking like _that_? You're about to tell them to delete it, feeling panicky for some reason, when a muscular, blue-scaled arm hooks under yours and lifts you off the ground.

 

“Come on, losers!” Undyne booms, hoisting the two of you up the hill. “The party's over here!”

 

Something about the look on Frisk's face, genuine affection for the cackling fish woman, doesn't sit well with you. ( _Frisk likes the monsters better than you._ )

 

( _Isn't it a shame that you can't fit into either of their worlds, no matter how hard you try?_ )

 

You fight to wriggle out of her grasp, snapping that you can walk just fine. Undyne doesn't miss a beat, patting you on the head with an “okay, nerd”, and heaving the Monster Ambassador back to the party on one shoulder. Both begin singing loudly and off-tune. You watch them go with jealousy and spite.

 

( _The monsters like Frisk better, and they will always like Frisk better because Frisk is the one who wasn't a total fuck-up._ )

 

( _You want to belong with monsters and humans so badly, and neither will ever fully accept you. Tragic._ )

 

Your own mind sounds bored of your woes.

 

When you hike the rest of the way up the knoll, you decide to wait out the rest of the party at an empty picnic table off to the side. You really don't want to be here right now. And it's not even because Sans isn't. You start dialing the number for the city taxi service.

 

Yet another hand alights on your shoulder right when you've punched in the last number. You've had enough of this unwanted physical affection and whirl around to tell whoever it is just that ( _don't touch me why do you monsters have to be so goddamn touchy-feely_ ).

 

You're met with an uncharacteristically downcast Papyrus. He's sitting beside you on the bench, watching Undyne and Frisk dodge each other's foam bullets in the grass. After a moments' silence, during which you forgot he was there, Papyrus speaks.

 

“I, TOO, MISS MY BROTHER A GREAT DEAL,” he sighs, then turns to you with a weak smile. “IT REMINDS ME OF A TIME MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN HE WAS WORKING IN THE CAPITAL.”

 

He looks lost in his memories. You just stare, uninterested.

 

“HE WORKED TOO HARD. IT WAS...NOT A GOOD TIME. I WAS NOT ALWAYS HAPPY WITH HIM.”

 

Papyrus takes a confident pose that seems a little half-hearted.

 

“BUT! MY FRIEND! WE MUST REMEMBER THAT THE WORK HE IS DOING IS VERY IMPORTANT! POSSIBLY FOR THE FUTURE OF BOTH HUMANS AND MONSTERS! SO WE MUST KEEP SMILING! NOT THAT I CAN EVER STOP!”

 

Wait, is he...? ( _He is._ ) He's indirectly criticizing you for not acting all cheery like him and the rest of the monsters. Um, did he forget that you made an ass of yourself on live TV yesterday? Aren't monsters' Souls supposed to be made of compassion and empathy and all that crap? Then why can't he see that this is _not_ a good time to be trying to teach you a lesson in patience or maturity or whatever?

 

And who the hell is _he_ to tell _you_ to be mature? Guy sleeps in a racecar bed, for god's sake.

 

You open your mouth to snap at him, hostility barely restrained even for someone as benign as Papyrus, but a voice from behind you cuts you off.

 

“jeez, guys, you make it sound like i died or something.”

 

You whip your head around so fast that you strain a neck muscle.

 

A beat of stunned silence passes over the entire crowd, then a chorus of elated voices shouts “SANS!” and everyone starts moving at once. He's appeared right in the center of the party, but you only see him for a fraction of a second before he's surrounded by jostling monsters.

 

Without a second thought, you're on your feet, trying to push through the crowd.

 

( _What are you doing?_ )

 

( _Stop it, you're acting like a child._ )

 

( _I said_ )

 

( **stop** )

 

You stumble, but that voice can't stop you. Its influence feels so weak now.

 

Finally, the monsters realize you're struggling to get by and move aside for you. Finally, you can see Sans, smiling brilliantly as his back is patted and his hand is shaken. He turns to face you. You can actually see him.

 

You finally reach Sans, actually _touch_ Sans, throw your arms around Sans' neck with so much force that you bonk heads.

 

“hey babe,” he chuckles, rubbing his skull where yours hit it. God, Sans' voice. His _laugh_. He pulls back to look at you. He looks exhausted. You can't believe it – you're actually feeling _empathy_.

 

Fucking. _Finally!_

 

You touch his face, hold it in your hands, and laugh freely as he playfully squishes your face around in response. This can't be actually happening – you're still passed out in the conference center, you know it. Finally, you get to feel his hard fingers on your skin again, see into his big, dark, laughing eyes and it's too much to take in all at once. The crowd of onlookers, all of Ebott Town at that, has dissolved away.

 

Even if it's stupid that it's Sans who saved you, even if it's pathetic and embarrassing and weak, you don't care one bit. Tears you didn't even know you were producing soak into the shoulder of his lab coat.

 

But Sans' hands are on you, stroking your hair, rubbing your back, shutting out the voice that he doesn't even know you've been hearing.

 

“shh. hey. aw, babe, don't cry,” his baritone voice rumbles through your chest. “hey. i'm here. i'm right here.”

 

You hiccup and gather up the strength to respond, wiping at your eyes uselessly, “That's WHY I'm crying, bonehead.”

 

Sans just chuckles again and holds you even closer to him. The gentle warmth of his Soul seeps into your chest. The feeling of his bones against you, even through layers of fabric, is such an indescribable comfort. He takes a breath to speak again, but another, biting voice cuts into your reunion.

 

“Couldn't manage to bring Alphys?” Undyne asks coolly from her position reclining at one of the nearby picnic tables, picking her sharp teeth.

 

The gathering turns collectively. Some monsters move out of the way to give her a direct line of sight. You cling to the front of Sans' lab coat with both hands. Everyone stays quiet.

 

Don't you dare.

 

Don't you DARE ruin this, Undyne.

 

“Undyne...”

 

Papyrus tries awkwardly to tell her that now may not be the best time, but she ignores him, sitting up and leaning forward. The look in her yellow eyes is dangerous.

 

“And tell me this, when does _she_ get to come home, huh, boneboy? You think I have a girlfriend so I can sleep alone?”

 

You look back at Sans, and he's expressionless. You admire his ability to keep his cool, then you feel him tense up infinitesimally under your grasp, defensive now.

 

“alphys is an adult who can make her own decisions,” he says levelly. “i can't exactly force her to leave.”

 

Undyne is standing now, clenching the side of the table so hard that it's cracking.

 

“Can't use that fancy-schmancy teleporting trick, huh? Only got enough power to visit your pet human, that it?”

 

You hate her, you hate her, you _hate_ her.

 

( _reset_ )

 

...what?

 

“'m not gonna say it again,” Sans warns, pupils growing brighter. His body temperature heats up considerably. “it's not up to me.”

 

Without giving Undyne a chance to reply, Sans backs away from you with a huff. Instinctively you reach for him and there's a lump in your throat. You don't understand what's happening. He looks through you with an agitated expression.

 

( _reset_ )

 

“i'll call you later, 'k?”

 

In a flash of heat and blinding blue light, he's gone again.

 

In an instant, Undyne has summoned a spear and hurled it with a shriek at the spot where Sans was just standing, missing you by inches.

 

You don't wonder how in the world Sans just literally teleported. There's nothing but anger inside you, broiling like lava as you turn on your heel toward the fish woman.

 

How DARE SHE...when you were just...you can't believe she could...

 

( _reSET_ )

 

Frisk suddenly appears out of the whispering crowd, stepping into your path and shaking their head dolefully. Undyne has already turned her back, muscles tensed, and is stomping off toward the parking lot. She barks for Frisk and they pick up their backpack, scampering after her with one last apologetic look over their shoulder.

 

( _You can't really have thought it would last._ )

 

( _What did you think was going to happen next time he went to work?_ )

 

( _That_ you _would have the strength to keep me out on your own?_ )

 

The gathering is silent for a few seconds longer, then everyone begins breaking up. Some head after Undyne, some give you sympathetic pats on the shoulder, some give awkward excuses about why they need to get home right away. You can only stand there, staring at your shoes like a kid, fuming. Your head is pounding. Something inside it feels delighted.

 

( _if you just reset_ )

 

“HUMAN,” Papyrus booms from beside you in his normal chipper voice, like nothing happened. It might have all been an elaborate hallucination.

 

“COME, WE MUST NOT BE LATE FOR THE SECOND PART OF YOUR SURPRISE!”

 

After all that, you couldn't be less interested in a second surprise. You're powerless against Papyrus' strength, though, and he steers you toward the parking lot while the rest of the monsters begin cleaning up. He's jabbering about how he's invited all the Embassy volunteers to wherever you're going. You're not really listening. You see Undyne hunched down in the back of a cab, riding away, and another wave of anger rolls over you.

 

( _You shouldn't be surprised. It's an animal that can't control itself._ )

 

“HUMAN?”

 

Papyrus' voice is small, but it still makes you jump. You realize you were grinding your teeth pretty hard and now your jaw hurts to match your aching neck. You rub it tenderly, avoiding looking into the much taller skeleton's hopeful eyes.

 

“No thanks, Paps. I have a lot of unpacking to do.”

 

Right as you say this, a crappy old car comes screeching into the parking lot and over to where you're standing, music blaring. One of the Embassy workers has come to pick you up, presumably to take you to the surprise.

 

Wait, no. If you go home, you're just going to fall into bed. Where you would fall asleep immediately. And you don't even want to know what you would dream about this time.

 

You heave a deep sigh, then step into the backseat as Papyrus squeals in delight.

\----

Papyrus opens the theater door for you and you're immediately hit by a wall of noise.

 

The lobby is way too loud. It's making your head hurt even more than it already did. And you're still seething. God _damn_ Undyne for ruining everything.

 

Standing in the middle of the huge room is a small collection of people, most of whom you vaguely recognize. Two faces you're very familiar with are Trevor, a human guy with dreads who works with you in PR, and Lilah, a curvaceous bunny monster you met at the welcome party Papyrus threw for you back in the Underground.

 

They're all talking, and Trevor probably just said something dirty that he thought was funny because Lilah's red in the face and punching him in the arm. Those two clearly like each other A. LOT. but neither seems to notice the other's hints. It's painful to watch, honestly.

 

( _Are you seriously going to go through with this? How dull._ )

 

You move reluctantly toward the little group, and they immediately light up at the sight of you and Papyrus. Yet another session of unwanted touching and accolades begins.

 

( _I wasn't being serious. I can't sit through one more of these trivial conversations._ )

 

You notice through the commotion that Lilah is wearing Trevor's hoodie, an ugly black-and-green-striped threadbare thing he wears to the Embassy every day. A weird envy comes over you.

 

“Is that _Trevor's_?” You ask with an amused smirk. Lilah's mouth grows very small and she suddenly can't seem to meet your eye.

 

“Uh, well, I mean. It's. Cold outside,” she stammers, going red.

 

( _Idiots. They should know from watching you that these kind of relationships don't work out._ )

 

Is that true? Don't they? Is that what Sans avoiding you means? That you're not working out? Why can't you think of any other successful monster-human relationships right now? Why can't you think of anything except for that one time Lilah said “Me and Sansy go _wayyyy_ back”?

 

Lilah seems unaffected by your catty tone and looks at you with an earnestness that makes you avert your eyes in shame. She takes your hand in both of hers.

 

“We loved your speech. It was really powerful.”

 

( _Oh, brother._ )

 

Ah, yes. You were hoping to avoid this topic entirely.

 

“Until you ate dirt, that is,” Trevor chimes in, ever the tactful one. Lilah makes a horrified noise and hisses at him to not be an asshole.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly, then glares daggers at Lilah. You only sigh in response, choosing with great restraint to not remind Trevor about that time he hit on Fuku and got summarily rejected with such force that the secondhand embarrassment left you cringing for days.

 

Even though you'd rather never think of that awful day ever again, the Embassy volunteers won't stop talking about your TV appearance. Asking you how you're feeling. Thanking you. Congratulating you. Apparently, they even organized a viewing party for the broadcast. Great.

 

( _I don't understand. How can they possibly claim to be proud of you?_ )

 

When did the voice in your head start referring to itself in the first person?

 

Lilah waves a paw in front of your face, looking concerned.

 

“Are you ok? You don't seem like yourself.”

 

“I'm fine,” you say, with more force than necessary. “Just...tired.”

 

Mercifully, one of the other volunteers checks their phone and distracts everyone by announcing that it's time to go in for the movie. The physical resistance you feel at the thought of doing that is strong enough to keep you rooted to the spot. How can you control your body when you can't even control your own thoughts? Whatever, whatever, whatever.

 

The group is leaving you, getting their tickets checked, filtering into the theater. Lilah waits at the door, looking for you. You just stand there in the lobby.

 

Then, Papyrus is literally dragging you aside, over to the arcade machines in the corner.

 

“HUMAN,” he announces in a bellow that's slightly less earsplitting than usual. Clearly, he's trying to be covert. “YOU APPEAR TO BE FEELING ILL, YET YOU HAVE TOLD OUR FRIENDS THAT YOU ARE 'FINE'.”

 

He _tsk_ s at you without a tongue and wags a gloved finger.

 

“BUT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, PRIDE MYSELF ON KNOWING YOU WELL, AND I KNOW THAT YOU ARE NOT. NOT WELL, THAT IS.”

 

There must have been a helicopter somewhere underground, because that's clearly where Papyrus learned to whisper.

 

( _get out of my face_ )

 

You push his hand off your shoulder and turn for the front door.

 

“Go on without me. I'm catching a cab home.”

 

“BUT-”

 

( _Go. Don't stop._ )

 

You don't. Stepping out onto the curb and whistling at some taxis rolling by, you leave the skeleton to call after you. Everyone on the sidewalk is staring. You've ducked into a car and ridden away before Papyrus can follow you outside.

 

The trip is over before you know it.

 

“Holy shit,” says the driver as he pulls up to your apartment building.

 

You see what he's talking about. Your car. Somebody vandalized it. It sits in the light of a lamppost, the words **MONSTER FUCKER** screaming at you in red spraypaint all over the side. The two tires you can see are flat.

 

How did anyone even know this is your car? You live in this complex with dozens of others and no one saw? ( _reset_ ) No one bothered to stop whatever assholes did this?

 

You don't know how to feel. You don't know if you _can_. The voice in your head hasn't told you what to do. You realize all too late that you're going insane.

 

Your mind is like a radio trying to pick up two stations at once. Two discordant streams of thought, meshing together messily, impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Something is writhing inside your head, black and red and shiny and pulsing and heavy. It feels like it's going to fall right off your neck.

 

( _Just reset._ )

 

( _Reset and this will all go away._ )

 

Your luggage stands outside your front door. There's a note attached. You ignore it and unlock the door.

 

You stumble into your apartment, limbs heavy with fatigue. You can't go to sleep, no matter what. Then you'll be trapped in your dreams again and this time you might not escape. Whatever is in there might not let you escape. Might make you reset, whatever the hell that means. Gotta stay awake.

 

An hour has passed when you realize you're just sitting on the couch in complete darkness.

 

You pace a little, then see the dirty dishes you left next to the kitchen sink. A few minutes later, they're clean and piled on the opposite side and you have no memory of putting them there.

 

Sans never calls, but Papyrus sure does.

 

Gotta stay awake. You sit on the side of your bed, holding yourself and shivering, wondering how it got so cold in here.

 

Your phone lights up in your hand. A text. You don't have to open it to see what it says.

 

 **Sans** | **12:31 A.M.**  
_can you come over tomorrow? i need to talk to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love hearing your thoughts/suggestions/telling me I suck. Everything helps me improve.
> 
> Yell at me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/) \- sometimes I draw smut and I'd love some requests/writing prompts.
> 
> Chapterly thank yous are in order for everyone who's weathered this shitstorm with me. You guys rock. :)


	8. Paper Doll

 

In the blink of an eye, the sun is up and trying its best to shine through the dark clouds outside your bedroom window.

 

No sleep, no dreams.

 

( _Let's go._ )

 

Not going to bother changing or showering or anything. Your pulse races as you head out, heart using the last of its energy reserves to keep you moving.

 

Can't use the car, gotta walk. Not too far to the skeletons' place. You're not really wondering what Sans wants to talk about.. You're just going through the motions, one foot in front of the other, until you find yourself at the brothers' little green house.

 

When you ring the doorbell, Arial can be heard scrambling for the door, yipping excitedly, but no one answers. After another ring goes unnoticed, you try the door handle. It swings open. These monsters are still too trusting.

 

Arial runs tireless circles around you, but you ignore her. In the bleak light of morning filtering through the doorway, you can see Sans. He's asleep at the kitchen table, draped in the blanket from the couch, with an untouched plate of breakfast next to him. Papyrus.

 

You don't know how long you stand there at the door, staring at him. Watching his back rise and fall with steady breathing. Long enough that Arial gets bored and goes off to lay somewhere. Eventually you're standing over him, and your presence is enough to startle him awake.

 

“hey, you,” Sans yawns, sitting up and stretching. He's wearing his work clothes, even though it's early in the morning. You thought he was off today. They're kind of wrinkled, like he's been wearing them a few days.

 

Sans gets up, saying something you don't listen to. He drapes the blanket over the back of the chair with a fond smile, then turns to you and opens his arms for a hug.

 

“How did you get home?” you demand suddenly. Sans draws back a little.

 

“what? oh, uh, tawny brought me.”

 

Of course she did.

 

“I was home,” you say flatly. “I could have driven you.”

 

Sans falters, confusion in his eyesockets. His arms drop to his sides.

 

“uh, well. you were hanging out with Pap, so I figured...”

 

He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“I could have driven you,” you repeat, quieter this time. Sans looks frustrated.

 

( _you annoy him_ )

 

“ok, i'll just ask you next time,” he sighs. “this isn't what I wanted to talk about anyway.”

 

The feeling between the two of you, some kind of weird stiff tension, is making you crazy. All you can do is look into his eyes, wondering how the hell things fell apart this fast. You wish you still had the capacity to feel regret.

 

( _you bother him_ )

 

( _you fucked up and now you're just bothering him_ )

 

( _But, if you reset, you can try again._ )

 

( _This conversation, this relationship, whatever you want._ )

 

( _The only thing I don't understand is why you haven't done it already._ )

 

Sans notices you staring at his clothes.

 

“oh, uh. i just got home a little while ago,” he says sheepishly. “was actually hoping you'd want to take a nap with me after we talk.”

 

You don't want to sleep. You don't want to talk. You don't want to give him the chance to realize he wants, _needs_ to leave you.

 

How to make him happy so he won't leave...you wrack your brain, then remember.

 

You decide at that moment that you have to make up for rejecting him that night in your room. Have to show him you want him. If he wants to go to bed, you'll take him to bed.

 

( _Really?_ )

 

Without a word, you take Sans by the hand and tug him towards the stairs up to his room. He clearly doesn't understand your intent, laughing that he's never seen you so eager to take a nap.

 

( _There are hundreds of thousands of smug, lazy trashbags exactly like this guy in the world._ )

 

( _And they have, you know, flesh._ )

 

You maneuver around the piles of junk on Sans' bedroom floor and sit on his bed, pulling off your shirt. Sans starts to stammer from his position standing in front of you, watching you undress. You yank off your pants and panties and pull him onto you with a force that betrays your desperation. His eyes are round as saucers.

 

“what, right _now_?”

 

Your only response is to start tugging up his shirt, stroking his ribs, paying special attention to the slightly warped bottom few that seem to be more sensitive.

 

“don't you... _ah_ ,” he moans in response to you sucking on his collarbone. “don't you want to take this a little slower? savor the moment?”

 

You shake your head with urgency.

 

He closes his eyes, swallows, takes a deep breath.

 

“okay,” he breathes, “okay.”

 

( _And he's just going to go along with it? Is he that oblivious?_ )

 

( _Well, skeleton men are still men, I guess._ )

 

Then Sans is unbuckling his belt, fumbling with his zipper, hands shaking, pushing his pants and boxers down, the phone is ringing.

 

The phone is ringing?

 

Sans draws in a sharp breath. All motion freezes.

 

You recognize that ringtone – it's his work phone.

 

“oh, fuck, not _now_ ,” he groans, reaching for his pocket instinctively.

 

“Sans,” you snap, incredulous. “What are you doing? Don't answer that now.”

 

He spends a moment deliberating but pulls the phone out anyway with a nervous glance at you.

 

“ _Sans!_ ”

 

He only raises an index finger in a 'wait' gesture and answers. Your blood begins to boil.

 

“now's not a good time, man,” he says to whoever's on the other end. His pants dangle awkwardly halfway down his femurs. “i'm b- what? are you serious?”

 

( _Oh, this is perfect._ )

 

“how long's it been...you know what, nevermind, i'm on my way.”

 

He snaps the phone shut and immediately begins dressing.

 

“as you probably gathered, i gotta go. someone's coming to pick me up.”

 

( _Exactly what I was waiting for._ )

 

You try to shake the voice out of your head but, as always, are unsuccessful.

 

“You're seriously leaving _now?_ ”

 

“babe, i'm sorry, i really am,” he says without looking at you, buttoning his shirt. “but if something goes wrong with that machine, this whole neighborhood's charcoal.”

 

Sans gives you a hasty kiss on the cheek and promises he'll be right back.

 

He grabs his jacket and badge and starts down the stairs.

 

No. No way. He is _not_ doing this to you.

 

You wrap yourself in his bedsheet and dash after him. Sans has the front door open when you thunder up behind. Whatever is in the back of your head is ecstatic; it clashes with your anger horribly and makes you feel faint.

 

Sans whirls around when he hears you and sees whatever look you have on your face. He almost looks afraid.

 

( _Good._ )

 

“Sans, don't you _dare_ ,” you command, voice shaking and louder than you're used to. “I'm so tired of you picking your stupid fucking job over me.”

 

His mouth hangs open a moment before he speaks.

 

“trust me, i really wanna stay, but i'll be right back, promise. just, _please_.”

 

Oooh, the way he says that, it just gets on your last nerve. As he starts to walk out to wait for his ride, you grab onto his shirt sleeve, forcing him to stop.

 

He's desperate now.

 

“kid, listen-”

 

“No, FUCK you, Sans,” you spit furiously, jabbing a finger at him, totally illogical but way past caring. “I'm not your 'kid' or your 'pal' or your 'buddy', I'm your fucking. girlfriend.”

 

Sans blanches for a split second, and you feel the rush of satisfaction from finally getting through his thick skull even though what you're saying doesn't make any sense. Then, his eyes narrow, pupils disappearing completely.

 

That expression...it evokes a primal fear in you that defies explanation.

 

The air around you becomes stiflingly hot for a split second and when you go to reach for Sans, he disappears in another blinding flash of blue.

 

You're standing there alone, donned only in his sheet, in the doorway. Birds sing cheerfully out in the grey morning and it's starting to rain. The dissonance is too much, much too much.

 

Your thoughts are marbles on glass, too small and innumerable and slippery to catch them as they skitter around your pounding head.

 

he

he

left me he left me

i can't believe

doesn't give a shit

about me about anything

( _Finally._ )

such a fucking asshole

( _Perfect opportunity._ )

goddammit WHY

( _No point in fighting anymore._ )

can't do anything right

( _Nothing to lose._ )

not good enough

( _If you won't reset on your own,_ )

 

( _I'll have to do it myself._ )

 

Something is trying to break out of your skull from the inside. The pressure is incredible. Your head is going to explode if it doesn't cave in. You are being invaded. You are the invader.

 

worthless useless

whatever

i don't

i don't care

 

Air is rattling out of your throat, heaving, scraping it raw. Every breath is a sob.

 

bastard

never should have

stupid

 

The world is blurring around you, spinning sickeningly. The sounds outside assault your brain and rattle around inside you in echoes. Your bring your hands to your face and hundred of arms trail after yours like frames of a slowed-down film.

 

can't breathe

can't breathe

my chest fuck

doesn't matter

abandoned me

hates me

doesn't matter

show him

make him sorry

hurthimcrushhimKILLHIM

 

( _Give up._ )

 

The smell of decay, of old earth and rot, hits you like a wall. You gag and pitch forward, the force of gravity on your body too much to bear. You're falling apart, crumbling into dust.

 

A piece of your Soul fades away.

 

( _Give up._ )

 

 

 

Another.

 

 

 

( _Give up._ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

another

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

( _Give up._ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good.

 

Now.

 

**Where are the knives.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reaching the thrilling conclusion now...please keep telling me what you think! :>


	9. Ṯ̩͑ͤ͜ h̯̥ͨ̉̆ͅe͉̻̙̪̔͛ͨ͛̈̈́ͫ͞ ͉̖̦̈́ͭ̃͒͂ͤ̌́ͅP̪̬̬̞̲̮͇̋ͩ͊̌̇͋͜a̢̰̺͎̠ͦ̎̾̑ͪ ŕ̪̱̳̩̜̑t̛̪̳͇͈͇y̪͈̰̺͓̾̂̐ͤ͢'̹̼͔̩̰͆ͣͥ̋͑s̨͈̻̦͚͕̥̥͋̾́ͥ͑ ͯͣ̒͌̿̽̚Ő̞ͭ̒v̘͚͕̟̎ͤͭ́ͤͭ̆ ẻ̡̻͔͓̥͇̙ͅ ŕ̓̎ͫ͝ ͉̮̰̖̺͙͋ͤ̾ͬͤ̑ͅN͇̲͈̩̳͉̝o͇̓̌̍̂̄w̫ͥ̍̏̏ͬͨ̇

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all in your head

**Pick up the sheet** off the floor unless you want to go to jail for indecent exposure.

 

Good. A little clumsy, but good. 

 

Let's practice. **Go** to the kitchen.

 

God, that dog is annoying. **Shut it up**.

 

Well, _someone_ 's finally being a good listener. If you had been since the beginning, I wouldn't have had to do this. Just remember that.

 

Now, **show me** the knives.

 

No...no...no...

 

Hmm...this one will do nicely. Looks pretty similar, actually. Brings back memor-

 

What was that?

 

Oh. Papyrus. 

 

Just got home from training. They're still doing that up here? Waste of time.

 

He looks happy to see you. Just in the way. **Tell him** to leave you alone.

 

Knew that would work. Little coward. So different from his brother. But we'll get to that.

 

He's gone. Try to **go** upstairs without falling on your face. We'll need more than a bedsheet where we're going.

 

Still pretty clumsy. Well, it _has_ been a while since I've had anything willing to walk with.

 

God, what a dump. **Put your clothes back on**. If you can find them.

 

Shirt's backwards. Whatever. Downstairs and outside. Rain's getting worse.

 

Now, **show me** where Sans works.

 

No, no, that's too far on foot. He'll leave by the time you get there, the way you're walking. Guess we have no choice. **Go** back for the car.

 

And while we have a few minutes, I just have to compliment you on your taste in men. I mean, seriously, what a winner. 

 

Tries to get close to you, tries to use you to break the barrier, which you failed spectacularly at, by the way. Then once he and his stupid brother are finally up here on the surface, just abandons you. A real class act.

 

I mean, what did you think was going to happen, huh? That he would leave his brother alone to move in with you? Stop paying attention to his job long enough to fall in love with you? _Marry_ you? You don't seem to realize how co-dependent they are. You just hold on to these stupid girlish fantasies. About a skeleton.

 

And it's not hard to believe how naive you are after being in your head so long. I've been looking through your memories while you've been busy mucking everything up. Can't believe you fell for it. You didn't wonder how or why Sans showed up exactly where you were underground, every time? No, because you were too busy fawning over him. You didn't even think that he might just be spying on you, giving your location to the King.

 

And what about that promise to protect you? Yeah, great job. Remember how you had to LOAD so many times? Why wasn't he there when Undyne gutted you? Or when Muffett fed you to that pet of hers? Why, why would you try to fight for the exact same ones who did that to you to have equal rights with humans? It boggles the mind.

 

Don't know what you expected from those creatures. You think your decision to spare them makes you all noble and righteous, but it just makes you gullible. Humans and their sentiment.

 

Regardless, I don't mind telling you that it's been pretty fun watching you ruin all of your relationships, one by one. Humans, monsters. Must be pretty upsetting, realizing just how fragile your bonds with all of them are. 

 

I can't believe you aren't putting up even a semblance of a fight. You just don't care anymore, do you? I hadn't expected it to be so easy, but you're hidden so deep that I can't even reach you. I'm not sure you can even hear me now. As long as you don't interfere, that's all that matters.

 

Anyway, we're here. **Show me** where your keys are. 

 

Back at the skeletons'. Doesn't matter. You know there's a spare in one of the back wheel wells. **Use it**.

 

Have to confess, this wasn't part of the plan. I don't know how to drive one of these things. Just have to work from what I can salvage of your memory. **Turn it on**.

 

Huh. Severe storm warning. But we're not going to wait it out. I've come too far. **Start driving**.

 

Can't see a thing through this rain. Looks like they weren't kidding about the severe storm.

 

Pretty sure you aren't supposed to go this fast when the road's wet. And when you have two flat tires.

 

That wasn't a suggestion. **Slow down**.

 

Why can't you control it?

 

I said, **sl**

 

 

 

 

**Wake up**.

 

Looks like you drove off the bridge. Good thing it's not a long way down. 

 

I wouldn't look in the mirror if I were you. Which I sort of am.

 

Come on, I can't wait around for you to get a grip. **Get up**. **Get up** and **climb** up the river bank. You're close enough to the power plant to walk now.

 

You should really be thanking me. You won't be around long enough to have to explain to the cops why your car's upside down in the creek.

 

How long is it going to take you to get up this bank? 

 

Oh, I didn't notice. Some of your ribs are broken, too. See, you won't have to feel that pain for long, either. Am I not merciful?

 

Come on, you weren't supposed to run out of DT this soon. **Walk** , damn it. No, we don't choke on our own blood, **spit that out**.

 

Car's coming. **Look away and walk straighter** so they don't stop and try to help you or something. Although all that blood on your shirt might give things away. Ah well, that's what we have the knife for.

 

They just drove by. Didn't even slow down. Not surprising. Humans.

 

Now, which way from here? Don't tell me you're lost. You need to pick up the pace. I don't know how much time I have left.

 

**Walk**.

 

 

 

There it is.

 

Looks like the storm knocked out the power. At the power plant. I bet that stupid comedian is in there making a joke about it right now.

 

Could work to my advantage. **Keep going**.

 

Oh, look, it's Doggo. He's the security guard. That's fitting.

 

I wasn't really expecting security. Give me a minute.

 

 

Okay, **approach him**. **Tell him** Sans left something at home and you need to deliver it to him. 

 

Hm...doesn't look like he believes you. You don't have anything in your hands, that's probably why. 

 

Wait, why's he looking at you like that?

 

Shit, the blood on your shirt. Tell him...I don't know, **tell him** you spilled ketchup on yourself or something.

 

I'm not sure if that worked or not, but he's still not letting you in. Gate's stuck due to the power outage, huh? Clever Doggo.

 

**Tell him** you'll come back later. **Walk** that way, toward the road home. We'll find another way in. No power means no security cameras.

 

Far enough. He's not following you anymore. **Go** around to the back, to the fence.

 

Oh. Barbed wire. What are they hiding in here?

 

Nevermind. Just climb- what? A light? 

 

Oh, Doggo's making the rounds on foot since the cameras are out. Nothing's going the way I planned. Doesn't matter. **Stand perfectly still** and hope he doesn't come over here.

 

**Don't make a sound** , or I'll kill you right here instead of making Sans do it.

 

Oh, that didn't sit well with you, huh? Even as a brainless husk with no DT, you still fear death. Fascinating.

 

Alright, he went the other way. But there's always a chance he's calling the cops or something. And this knife can't take them all out. So hurry up and get this over with. 

 

Nothing to cut the barbed wire with, so you'll just have to do it. **Climb** the fence.

 

Forgot how durable human bodies are. You can do basically anything on pure adrenaline. Pretty useful.

 

Now, let's try to **open** this back door over here. Locked. Damn. If I'd had more time, I could've...whatever. 

 

Try the window up there. Use the ladder laying down over there, by the fence. _That_ would've been useful a second ago.

 

Good, the window's open. 

 

Wasn't counting on a power outage...it's dark in here. And it looks like you don't know anything about the layout of the inside. But at least we managed to find a storage room. 

 

Try to get down without falling. I don't know how many more broken bones I can realistically work with here.

 

That didn't sound good. **Keep still**. If one of them comes, we have the means to deal with it, but I'd still rather avoid the hassle.

 

Alright, I guess they didn't hear or don't care. **Get up**. 

 

Time to find Sans.

 

 

God, I don't have time to poke around all these endless hallways. This place can't be that-

 

Voices. **Go** that way, around the corner. Sounds like they've all gathered in one place to wait out the storm. I'd imagined getting Sans alone, but this works too. Everyone will get to see what a monster _really_ is.

 

Now **wait**. **Listen**. 

 

That's him alright. That laugh. **Go** to the window and look into the lab.

 

A bunch of humans you don't recognize. They seem to be trying to make the best of the power outage. I remember that yellow one, the monster. Worked for my-...the king, back underground. But no Sans. **Move** down the hall a little, to the next window, quietly.

 

And there he is. 

 

Playing chess with that woman...what's her name...doesn't matter now. Seeing her for the first time is unpleasant for you, I sense. First time I've felt you. But don't worry yourself about it. You'll get your chance to reset once I get what I want. Reset and try it all again. 

 

If this works, that is. If it doesn't...it won't do to dwell on that.

 

I would've liked to make a grander entrance, but it's not worth the risk. So close now. 

 

Careful, careful. Have to keep my excitement from shutting down your heart. I don't think it's supposed to beat that way. So sturdy, but so weak.

 

I assume this door will take us into the lab. Looks like you'd normally need some kind of key card, but lucky for us the storm took care of that.

 

**Go in.**

 

Gasps, then silence. Seems Sans doesn't immediately recognize you with your beat-up face and filthy clothes.

 

Everyone's staying still. Good. If they don't, well, you know what to do.

 

Oh, I can't _wait_. Now.

 

**Tell him** he shouldn't have left you. **Tell him** he's gonna regret it.

 

He seems to get it now. Keep coming, Sans. You stupid monsters, can't see danger even when it's staring you in the face.

 

This is going to feel so _good_.

 

Don't try to touch me, Sans, just get into position.

 

Now! NOW!

 

The knife! **Get the knife**! 

 

That's it!

 

Now!

 

DO IT! **FIGHT**!

 

 

What? What the hell are you doing? 

 

I said, **KILL HIM**!

 

What's-

 

( _no_ )

 

...

 

What?

 

( _i won't_ )

 

What the hell do you think you're doing?

 

Oh, you're going to try to fight back NOW?

 

( _won't hurt him_ )

 

To protect this _monster_?

 

He's the whole reason you let me in in the first place! Because he ignored you! Neglected you! 

 

Did you forget already? Or are you just that much of an idiot?

 

( _won't let you_ )

 

**Shut up.** He doesn't care about you! He doesn't want you! Doesn't need you!

 

You can't just decide to develop a conscience all of a sudden! 

 

( _not what i wanted_ )

 

**Shut up!**

 

Damn it!

 

**JUST SHUT UP AND DO WHAT I TELL YOU!**

 

( _ **please**_ )

 

No

 

Not when I'm this close

 

Your Soul it's

 

Why won't you

 

How can you possibly

 

( _i_ )

 

**Stop it**

 

**STOP**

# I WON'T

# 


	10. My Heart Went With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Graphic violence** warning.

Here you are again.

 

This sensation of crushing darkness that surrounds and fills and exudes from you. You know it well.

 

Dark. Frigid. Safe.

 

You can't see your body because it doesn't exist. You don't have the capacity to comprehend how lonely it is. All you know is that no one can hurt you here.

 

It's different from last time, though. After Asgore killed you, you barely fathomed that you even still existed in some form. You just kind of...went to sleep. You'd thought that maybe you were just suspended in time by magic or something, but that theory was disproved when you got home to an empty apartment and realized that half a year had gone by.

 

Yes, it's certainly different than that. Things are happening this time. You're seeing stuff. Having some kind of out-of-body experience, as if watching through the eyes of another.

 

It's just like at the press release, at the conference. Flashes of things you weren't part of keep coming to you. There are images you remember seeing that day, the ones of the monsters being killed in various gruesome ways. You don't feel anything in response this time, you can't. But you do sense the ghosts of the emotions that are apparently associated with these images; spite and contempt and triumph and an undercurrent of envy that ties all of them together.

 

The images presented to you are marred and grainy, whether by time or repression you can't tell.

 

Those thoughts come quite often, forcing you to memorize the details.

 

But there are new things here too.

 

You're being comforted by the King, who's smiling at you while applying a bandage to your skinned knee. You're eating quiche with Sans, whose hand you slap away when he ruffles your hair, which morphs into Toriel looking so embarrassed by the dramatically uneven haircut she just gave you that you can't help but crack a smile. You're strapped to a table while a shadowy figure with holes in its white hands sticks needles in you. An endless sea of golden flowers grow, wilt, die in an endless cycle.

 

One creature whom you don't recognize at all, a small clone of Asgore in a striped shirt, appears more often than anyone else. The feelings associated with images of that particular monster transcend ghosthood and overflow, bursting with such intense remorse and twisted adoration that you want to retreat further into the blackness to get away from them. You get the feeling that you aren't meant to see these things.

 

You didn't realize it at first, but separating yourself from that Voice has actually given you back some of the mental clarity you've lacked all these weeks. It isn't at the back of your mind, hounding you. Its attentions seem to be focused elsewhere.

 

Things go on in this way for an unknowable amount of time until, far away, someone speaks in an approximation of your voice. It's hard to understand what they're saying, so you focus on the sound. When you do this, a hazy view forms of a place you've never seen before.

 

You see the sky first through a high window, almost black with storm clouds. Rain dashes dangerously hard against the window, threatening to force it open. Lots of white lab coats in the big, dark room. The people in them huddle together in the corners and under desks, quiet. Silhouettes of machines that cast ominous shadows, by way of the spots of white light which dot the scene. And in the middle of the room towers the biggest machine of all, incomprehensibly complex and intimidating.

 

You perceive Sans approaching hesitantly, blurry at first but coming into focus.

 

Even with your vision muddled like this, you feel chills at the look on his face. It's almost like you're seeing him for the first time in months. His eyes, soft with concern. His browbones are knitted together fretfully. His permanent smile is small and strained.

 

Sans isn't looking at you like you shouted awful things at him. He's looking at you like...like an astronomer seeing a new star.

 

And it's warm, like his bones. Like the miniature sun he must hold in his chest in order for him to be that warm.

 

You're tired of hiding.

 

Why would you ever come back to this void on purpose? You can't believe you let that Voice have such overwhelming control of you for so long.

 

Time to stop this. Time to redeem yourself. Time to wake up.

 

With great effort, you ball up all those other thoughts, the memories that aren't yours, and stuff them down, down, down.

 

It doesn't seem to be working at first, but your Soul burns like a bonfire at the thought of seeing Sans and the rest of your friends again, talking to them, telling them you're sorry, so sorry.

 

Then, you open your eyes, your real eyes. You wake up.

 

Everything is just as you saw it inside your head. The dim room, the terrified people, and Alphys among them. The spots of light turn out to be emergency lanterns distributed among several white tables crowded with various tools and gadgets. The smell of ozone and oil burns your nose and it's dreadfully cold.

 

And here's Sans.

 

The pain of injuries you didn't know you'd sustained hits you all at once, and your brain is forced to divert all its efforts to blocking it out. You can't pass out again, not now.

 

In a voice that's so much calmer than the situation warrants, you tell Sans you're here and you're okay. He looks like he's had the wind knocked out of him. He reaches out to you, trembling. You close your eyes in anticipation of his touch.

 

But that Thing is still inside you. You haven't gotten rid of it. It's utterly silent, shocked into stillness for the moment, but it doesn't last long.

 

That's when the agony begins.

 

Your skin it

 

It's literally crawling. You can see something wriggling under there. Your flesh is bunching up and stretching away from the bone in a grotesque display, as if your skin might just slide away altogether and let out whatever is lurking underneath.

 

Something is literally tearing out of your body. You would swear that you are splitting in two, that your skin is being wrenched free from your muscles. Everything dissolves but the apocalyptic pain, the itching, the burning. It forces sounds from your mouth that no human should ever be able to make.

 

A deafening roar, like the breaking of the sound barrier, explodes from what feels like a gaping hole in the center of your chest. The physical shockwave from it sends papers and lab instruments flying. Panicked screams fill the air.

 

Materializing over your blood-soaked sweater is a shape you recognize as your Soul, lighting up every inch of the room with the most blindingly brilliant blue you've ever seen in all your life.

 

It hovers momentarily, then floats away from you for the second time in as many years. You can't possibly comprehend what you're seeing. You can only watch from your position crumpled on the floor, clutching your chest.

 

 _Something_ begins to swirl into formation around your Soul, a foggy amalgamation of colors that solidifies into a translucent human body. A body you immediately recognize.

 

Frisk...?

 

Oh god, that's not Frisk.

 

The specter turns to you, slowly, and the face is a contorted mask of rage and enmity that, despite your very essence having been removed, makes your hair stand on end. Your Soul rests in the middle of its chest. The knife from Sans' kitchen is in its hand.

 

A quiet string of expletives is coming from Sans, who you notice is holding onto a chair for stability. You've never seen his sockets that wide, that dark. They're black holes taking up half his skull.

 

You do not understand what is going on. Your mind grows foggier by the second.

 

The apparition speaks without moving its mouth, and all other sounds are abruptly silenced.

 

“Well, this isn't what I'd hoped for, I must say.”

 

You sit up a little, instinctively. That's it. That's the voice that's been tormenting you, mocking you, breaking you down. That's the voice in your head.

 

“I wanted you to see me in her, Sans. Attack her on sight.”

 

Its form flickers in and out briefly, like a malfunctioning projection.

 

“But no. For reasons I can't understand, you let your bathos get the best of you and you gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

 

A cruel smile curls its lips.

 

“You've gotten melodramatic in your old age.”

 

It tosses its hair defiantly.

 

“But, I'm nothing if not persistent. You should remember that much.”

 

“Either way, that kid, the one that looks like me, will be forced to Reset. It's a guarantee, because sentiment is the folly of all humans.”

 

Sans doesn't respond. He just raises his left hand and – you must be dreaming – _bones_ appear in the space around him, around the whole room. Femurs and humeri float in midair. The air is immediately so scorching hot that it hurts to even have your eyes open.

 

The figure plants its feet apart, rolls its neck and shoulders as if it's preparing for some kind of sport.

 

Without warning, the thing leaps at Sans, inhumanly fast. The knife glints blue in the light of your Soul.

 

You try to cry out but it comes out as a rasp. There's nothing in your lungs to scream with.

 

There's a gash, split wide as the specter's grin.

 

Sans looks down slowly, fearfully. He stares at the rip in his lab coat, a perfect slice right across the chest. His fingers come up to feel it, shaking powerfully, and find that the cut didn't go deeper than his shirt. He falters and catches himself on the chair next to him. You're choking on air.

 

The figure snickers. It's just fucking with him.

 

Then, Sans moves faster than you'd ever thought he could. In one swift movement, left eye burning fiercely blue, he directs the bones he somehow summoned to rush with lethal speed at his attacker.

 

They miss and splinter against the walls, knocking lanterns and equipment off nearby tables and across the room. The specter only laughs in response, like it's having the time of it's life. As it turns to resume its attack, Sans shouts for the others to get out of the lab, but they're all frozen in place, silent and staring, uncomprehending.

 

The thing with the stolen Soul takes advantage of the distraction and goes at the skeleton again, missing him by inches.

 

It doesn't seem interested in anyone but Sans, and that sickens you all the more. You can't help but remember what that plaque in Waterfall said; the intent of the enemy is the most important thing. And this enemy wants very much to take Sans away from you.

 

Somehow, you know you aren't meant to witness this. You're treading on the sacred ground of two warring deities.

 

Again and again they clash, Sans throwing up walls of bones which are instantly shattered by the relentless blade. Flashes of blue keep you from seeing everything, but you know by now that that light means Sans is teleporting around.

 

“I know what you fear, Sans,” the thing mocks after a time, perched atop one of the huge machines as Sans stands ready below. It's completely in shadow, but your blazing Soul illuminates its ghastly face. “I know I linger in the back of your mind. That you have dreams about me. About when I'll come back. How.”

 

It ceases pacing, turns to face Sans, who bristles and raises his left hand again. The ghostly figure's smirk broadens. Its grip on the knife tightens.

 

“Must be embarrassing, being so scared of a _CHILD_.”

 

At this, the specter lunges, deadly fast, but Sans leaps away a nanosecond before it touches him, disappearing and reappearing across the room. It lands effortlessly and barks out a laugh that's too hateful, too bitter, too unhinged to be a child's.

 

“ _That_ old trick again? Oh, Sans, I'm disappointed that you've forgotten already.”

 

They pass the knife to their other hand, shifting their weight from foot to foot, seemingly getting psyched up. Sans wipes sweat from his brow.

 

“Every time I come back for you, _I'M GETTING FASTER_!”

 

With that it's after Sans again, right on his heels. Suddenly a table is levitating off the ground, the heavy lab equipment sliding off with chaotic clanging, while Sans gives a grunt of effort. The table gets flung toward the apparition, but it dodges almost as skillfully as Sans.

 

His face...the fear. You can't stop your own face from reflecting it, even if you're not able to feel it. Sweat rolls down his skull in torrents and his chest is rising and falling too fast. He hazards desperate glances your way between volleys.

 

You want so badly to help him, to move, to do _anything_ , but holding onto consciousness with no Soul is too great a burden already. You're so vulnerable here in the open, but there's nothing you can do about it.

 

A beaker shatters on the wall next to your head, the glass flying into your scalp and ear. The new onslaught of pain threatens to knock you out, but you hold on because at that moment, the door creaks open right next to you.

 

Your body goes cold briefly before you realize it's Sans' co-worker, Tawny. She must have sneaked around from the back door. Ironically, you're relieved to see her.

 

Without a word, Tawny grabs your forearms and pulls you as quickly and gently as possible from the room into the pitch-black hallway unnoticed. You don't look down at your body as she drags it, for fear of what you would see. Or not see.

 

Tawny props you up against the wall outside the lab, kneeling beside you to look you over frantically. She whips a phone from the pocket of her white coat.

 

“Oh, thank _god_ , there's service,” she breathes, then begins dialing. “I'm calling the police.”

 

You grab her phone with a speed that surprises you. She whirls on you, dumbfounded. In your delirious state, you plead with her not to call anyone, knowing what it will do to Sans, to all monsters, if he's seen using his magic this way, self-defense or not. Tawny looks sympathetic, but dials anyway.

 

Right as the woman begins shouting into the phone, the lab doors are blown open.

 

The wraith is hurled through them violently, striking the wall beside you with such impact that ceiling tiles rain down on your heads.

 

Before you can react, the phantom shakes off the pain, rolls to the side, lands on all fours in a runners' stance, launches forward, shrieks: “COME ON, LAZYBONES, YOU'VE LET YOURSELF GET RUSTY!”

 

Sans won't last much longer against this, even as capable as he's shown himself to be. Even if it's the last thing you do, you have to _try_ , damn it.

 

You can't move your torso, you know that much. So, gathering the last bit of strength in your legs, you perform the arduous task of standing.

 

Tawny grabs at your bloodstained shirt, demanding in a hysterical voice that you stay here.

 

But you're stumbling through the destroyed doorway anyway.

 

Sans catches sight of you immediately. He's been cornered, but you know that thing will toy with him as long as possible. You've seen what it's capable of.

 

Sans wails for you to get out of here, but you ignore his pleas. There isn't enough time to argue about this. You know you can't last much longer without the very thing that makes you human.

 

You shuffle toward the two combatants, who stand stock-still, watching. You notice that the other employees seem to have taken Tawny's lead. The room is empty except for the three of you. The closer you get to your Soul, the more you can feel your injuries. But still you press on.

 

The specter is facing you now. This close, you're struck even more by its similarities to Frisk, but you don't have the energy to wonder why that is. Even though it's been fighting so hard, it doesn't look tired. In fact, its chest isn't moving at all.

 

“Look who decided to join the party,” it says, crossing its arms. “And in sorry shape, too. I didn't think human bodies could last this long without a Soul.”

 

Sans sees his opportunity. He tries to stand as quietly as possible, using the wall for support.

 

“Killing you now wouldn't even be any fun.”

 

“I know why you're here,” you interrupt. It hurts to talk. But if you can just distract it, even for a second...

 

The figure tilts its head to the side, inquisitively. It looks amused.

 

“And I suppose you'll try to change my mind now,” it says, shrugging and shaking its head. “You weren't even strong enough to keep me out, how-”

 

“I know...you just want to see your brother again.”

 

Its eyes, glinting red as rubies, grow big.

 

It catches itself, smirks and opens its mouth to retort. That's all the time Sans needed.

 

It chokes. Something black, thick and shiny and corporeal, drips from its nose and mouth, down its chin. It grits its teeth, and the blackness is smeared all along its gums. The bones protruding from seemingly every available surface gleam blue in the light of your untouched Soul.

 

Your hand rushes up to cover your mouth instinctively and your eyes well with tears. For a chilling instant, it looks directly into your eyes before its gaze goes unfocused and all facades drop away. They're just a frightened child.

 

You try to catch them as they fall, but they dissolve into smoke as you hit the ground, splattered with their black gore.

 

Whatever awaits you in the void, at least you did what you could for the people you love.

 

You feel warm bones against your cold skin before your body gives up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a garbage person and delaying so long! 
> 
> I had midterms and a research proposal due this week, so I'm a little burnt out. But I tried my best on this! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑
> 
> It's not exactly what I'd hoped, but I'm still excited to hear what you think!
> 
> Oh, and you can hit me up on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/) if you like.
> 
> Thank you guys so much, as always.


	11. It's Been a Long, Long Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H-hey, it's me, the garbage person who takes a literal month to update! Now that school things have calmed down, I can finally wrap this story up. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Again, blackness.

 

Again, punctuated by occasional voices, fading in and out of audibility.

 

“... _I_ c-can't do it, you _know_ I c-can't. Sans, m-my body isn't...”

 

“...tried to call the police, but she...”

 

There are varying levels of panic infused in each statement you hear. You can't move or respond, so you have to just listen.

 

“...got to get her to a hospital...”

 

That was Sans. 

 

“...glad you got her to us in time...”

 

“...sir, we're doing everything in our power...”

 

What feels like seconds later, when you sit up, eyes wide open. It's the middle of the day.

 

Instead of the cavern-like lab, when you look around, you see a pristine white hospital room. Instead of the cold, tiled floor, you're now situated in a stiff hospital bed. Instead of a marred, gory sweater, you're now in a flimsy blue hospital gown.

 

Your room is full of more flowers than you've ever seen in one place, vivid and wonderfully fragrant. Warm daylight beams through the window, and the plain white curtains have been parted to reveal an ice-blue sky. The silent city underneath it looks lovely, and the sea shines crystalline beyond. White clouds cast shadows on the green mountains as they roll by, Mount Ebott reaching up above them.

 

You look down. Sticky pads with wires attached to them dot your skin – the wires lead to a machine that makes a soft, intermittent beeping noise. An IV seems to be feeding you saline. You feel bandages on your face, on the bridge of your nose and around your mouth. There's a dull pain in your ribs...actually, there's a dull pain basically everywhere. But it's not unbearable.

 

And your mind is clear.

 

You sit back in your bed, and the strongest sense of relief comes over you. You're (relatively) ok. Sans is ok. Everyone is ok.

 

No ghost kids. No bad thoughts. You can breathe. You can think. 

 

You are yourself. You are at peace.

 

Interrupting your reunion with yourself, the nurse comes in to check on you. He's ecstatic to see you awake and pumps his fist. He checks your vitals, gives you something for the pain that works blissfully quickly, and nearly sprints off down the hallway, calling for the doctor. You go back to sleep almost immediately, and have what might be the soundest sleep of your life. 

 

When you open your eyes again, Sans is there. 

 

He's hunched in a terribly-uncomfortable-looking hospital chair next to your bed, reading. (Are those...glasses? Taped to the sides of his head? You stifle a laugh.) 

 

He hasn't noticed that you've opened your eyes yet, so you just go on looking at him. His clothes are disheveled, and you know immediately that he's probably been here for almost as long as you have, however long that is. You can't help but smile at the sight of his concentrated expression, resting his chin in his hand as he tends to do when he's lost in thought.

 

 _He looks so delicate_ , you think in your own voice.

 

Sans happens to look up at you. 

 

His book slides to the floor and his arms are around you in the blink of an eye. (Well, as around you as they can be from this awkward position.) Regardless, the warmth of his round skull against your temple is so incredibly comforting. His scent is still mingled with the industrial smell of the lab, but you breathe it in. It's much better than the stench of antiseptic and sickness. 

 

For the first time in a long time, you feel absolutely safe.

 

You stay that way until well after you lose track of time, your breathing and the beeps of the hospital equipment the only sounds in the room. You might have thought he's fallen asleep on you if not for the periodic hand he runs through your hair.

 

When Sans finally pulls away, your arms are sore from holding onto him so tightly for so long. He retakes his seat, still holding onto your hand, and picks up the book he dropped. 

 

“how are you feeling?” he asks with a big grin. 

 

You think on this for what feels like a long while. You still don't even really know what happened. From what you can gather, some... _thing_ was inside you and tried to steal your Soul. Something Sans seemed to recognize. Something that tried to kill him. You remember banging on the walls of your own head, screaming without a mouth, without a voice, begging for everything to stop. The memory makes you wince.

 

But all of that seems to be done now. You search your mind again, and find nothing out of place. It feels weird to be normal again.

 

“Calm” is what you finally decide on, and you really mean it.

 

But your mind is still racing with things you want to ask him, things you want to say to him. Sans beats you to it.

 

“i know you have a lot you want to tell me,” he says, as if reading your thoughts, and squeezes your hand. “at least, i hope you do.”

 

You nod anxiously, which hurts.

 

“i have a lot of stuff to tell you, too,” he continues, and his grin is somehow solemn. “a _lot_ of stuff.”

 

The skeleton monster stands and leans forward to kiss your forehead.

 

“but for now, i just want you to rest. your nurse seems like a nice dude, so i trust he'll take good care of you while i see to some things.”

 

Sans tells you he'll be back soon, that he just has to stop by the lab to finish up his last reports. When you don't object to this, he looks mightily relieved. When he asks what he should bring you from your place, you request your pillow, some comfy socks, and the book you were reading before all this insanity.

 

Before Sans leaves, he raises your hand to his mouth and holds it there for a few moments, eyes closed. Watching him go to the door, you're sad to see him go so soon, but it's not an inordinate amount. The rational part of your brain, finally unsuppressed, knows that he'll be back soon enough.

 

“oh, and i held them off as long as i could, but everyone's breathing down my vertebrae about coming to see you.”

 

The thought of seeing your friends, even in your pained state, is so exciting that you can't help but wiggle a little. Which you stop immediately because ow, that hurts. He chuckles and opens the door, but turns to face you again before leaving.

 

“and i do mean _every_ one. so seriously, rest while you can.”

 

With a little wave, Sans is gone. 

 

You try to get comfortable, but soon discover that it's nigh impossible in a hospital bed. Then you try to read the book Sans left on the side table, but it's as thick as a stereo manual and half as interesting. Someone left your phone on the side table, but there are way too many texts to realistically go through while you're hopped up on painkillers. Nothing interesting on the hospital's three TV channels, either.

 

You settle for looking out the big windows next to you, watching the wind make the mountain's emerald green forest shift and sway. The tree closest to your room is full of little birds, singing sweetly, providing the perfect backdrop for falling into a deep, restful sleep.

 

–-

 

Sans wasn't kidding. 

 

Over the next few hours, the visits are almost constant. When one group of monsters leaves, another enters. Everyone is quite audibly excited to see you. But you don't mind at all this time. In fact, you're ecstatic to see them all too.

 

All the Dogs, the Slimes, Lilah, even the usually stoic Grillby seems a little overcome with emotion when he brings you some of your favorite monster dessert. Jerry complains that the hospital's wi-fi is garbage, then asks if you're gonna eat what Grillby literally just gave you. Muffett's tinkling giggle rings as sweet as a tea bell when she restates her promise to tie you up in webs if you even _think_ about coming into work for the rest of the month. 

 

Undyne shouts from the top of her lungs a clearly rehearsed apology about how sorry she is for 'acting a fool' at the picnic, and gives you a (very painful) noogie, cackling so loud that several nurses have to come in and beg her to keep it down. Alphys brings some Japanese snacks that you're a little hesitant to eat, and rubs Undyne's back after her apology while Undyne beams proudly.

 

Papyrus dashes in at one point, sockets gleaming with tears, wailing incoherently that he just knew something was wrong, that he should have done more to help you. Like Undyne, he's a little overzealous with the physical affection, but you couldn't be happier to have more bruises.

 

You'd forgotten how many human volunteers worked at the Monster Embassy until you'd seen just about every one of them in your room, and they all either brought food or dropped it off with Sans.

 

So many awesome visits from your very best friends. You feel so accepted, so cared for. You can't believe you felt so alone just a few days ago. It gets you choked up when you overhear the nurses saying they've never seen so many visitors for one patient.

 

You try to sleep between visits, but one time, you're awakened by a gentle knocking at the door. It creaks open and there, still rocking the goth look (or maybe it's punk, you really can't tell) is Frisk themselves. They're alone, thank goodness. You don't know if you have the physical fortitude to face Undyne again just yet. Your scalp still burns a little from her assault on it.

 

For now, it's just Frisk, surprising you with an uncharacteristic hug. Your heart melts and you have to hold back happy tears for the millionth time today. They sit where Sans was a few hours ago and scoot the chair closer. 

 

“Was wondering when you were gonna decide to wake up,” they say sarcastically, hands on their hips. “If you're not careful, you'll beat Sans at laziness, and that's, like, the only thing he's good at.”

 

“I'll sleep as long as I want,” you laugh. You feel the urge to ruffle their short brown hair, but think better of it.

 

Things get quiet, and they seem to be figuring out what to say. You don't mind waiting. When they do speak, it isn't what you expect.

 

“So, your Soul was the blue one, huh?”

 

You blink, not sure how to respond. How do they know that? Did Sans tell them? Frisk seems to catch on to your confusion.

 

“Oh, no, see, you wouldn't know, because you didn't make it that far. Uhh...no offense,” they add sheepishly, then continue talking animatedly. “Ok so, you had to go up against Dad – I mean, Asgore – at the Barrier, right?”

 

You nod, wondering where this is going and hoping you have the energy to keep up.

 

“Well, I did too, but something different happened to me. Flowey showed up.”

 

A shiver runs through you at just the mention of the awful little flower. No, you guess you _didn't _make it “that far” - you hadn't lasted even a minute against the King, much less Flowey. You don't want to imagine the things that little yellow bastard probably had hidden up his sleeve – er, stem.__

__

__“And Flowey killed Dad – long story – so I had to fight him, but he was way too strong. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”_ _

__

__“He couldn't kill me, though, because _you_ were there. You helped me. You and the other Souls.”_ _

__

__You're not sure what Frisk is talking about. You don't remember ever seeing them fight Flowey, much less helping them. As if you weren't already painfully aware, you're reminded that there are still so many things you don't understand. But you decide to worry less about comprehending and more about just listening._ _

__

__“Yeah, you might not remember, but your Soul was with me. I don't really know how or why it went against Flowey, but it did. _You_ did.”_ _

__

__You're dumbfounded. You look down at your chest, where your Soul presumably returned after the fight at the lab. You remember how easily that thing took control of it. You wonder briefly how you could have possibly done any of the things Frisk is describing while you were busy being dead._ _

__

__You feel weird, like you're getting credit for someone else's achievements._ _

__

__“Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, don't worry about it. Because I know you are. I know you, and I know you're feeling guilty about all this stuff that happened. You think it's your fault that Chara was in you.”_ _

__

__They look you right in the eyes, and it doesn't matter how they know the name of your invader or how they know that it forced its way into your mind or that Asgore apparently died (!!). What matters is that Frisk is showing more emotion than you've ever seen them show, and it's for you._ _

__

__“If your Soul was bad, or weak, like you probably think it is, then you wouldn't have been there with me when I fought Flowey. You would have hidden. If...if it wasn't for you guys...”_ _

__

__Frisk knows they don't have to finish that sentence. You watch as their face darkens at the terrible memory, and your chest swells with empathy. Frisk gives that feeling some time while the two of you sit in silence, looking out of your room's huge windows over Ebott. Poor kid. They don't deserve to have those memories. Then, they turn to you again, and their smile is back._ _

__

__“So,” Frisk begins again. “Yours was blue. I knew it was you, when I met you up on the surface. It was like seeing an old friend again.”_ _

__

__What a sweet kid._ _

__

__“I wish _I_ could remember,” you sigh. You would have loved to see Frisk stick it to that creep. But Frisk just told you that your Soul, _you_ , somehow helped them save the world, and you can't help but feel a little proud. You're not about to question them. The properties of human Souls really are astounding._ _

__

__You're distracted from what Frisk is saying when you notice that Sans is standing by the door. How long has he been there?_ _

__

__“Yeah, and so, after that, Sans...” Frisk trails off and follows your gaze, then gives a big grin at the sight of their best friend._ _

__

__“sheesh, this is the second time in the past few days that i've walked in on someone talking about me,” he chides playfully. “i'm way more popular than i thought.”_ _

__

__“In your dreams, skeleton,” Frisk snorts. “You'll never be as popular as the Human Ambassador to Monsters. I'm the genuine article. The Big Damn Hero.”_ _

__

__The three of you laugh and Sans walks over to join you at the bed. He takes your hand right away, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Frisk makes a mock gagging noise at the affectionate display, and your chest is bursting with pride and fondness for these two weirdos. You love them. Really, really love them._ _

__

__“Oh right,” Frisk says suddenly to Sans, sitting up in the chair. “Did you pick up my prescription?”_ _

__

__Sans pulls a small packet out of his jacket pocket and hands it to the kid. You look curiously at them._ _

__

__“For my mouth,” Frisk says, as if that clarifies anything._ _

__

__“yeah, you think _your_ life sucks – the kid had to get _braces_ ,” Sans explains with a laugh, and Frisk gives him a playful slap on the arm, telling him to shut up._ _

__

__“Whaaaaaat?” you cry, turning to the teenager, whose face is going a little red. “I didn't even notice! Let me see!!”_ _

__

__Frisk gives a big showy grin, but all you see is normal teeth._ _

__

__“They're the invisible kind,” they explain. “Mom said they were too expensive, but the dentist gave them to me for free once he figured out I was the Ambassador. I'm kind of a celebrity, in case you hadn't heard.”_ _

__

__“Oh my god, you cocky little brat! You think you're hot shit, huh?” you laugh, poking them in the side._ _

__

__“Basically,” Frisk replies with a smirk that rivals only Sans' in smugness. You can't help but mirror the smile. Even after all this madness, life just goes on._ _

__

__Then, Frisk does something unexpected – they pull you and Sans into a hug. They bury their face in your blanket, but you can see their eyes are wet._ _

__

__“I love you guys,” comes a muffled, wavering voice._ _

__

__There's a pause while you and Sans exchange a startled look, then you both tighten the group embrace. As different as the three of you are, no matter what happens in the future, you know that you will always be joined together by the same terrible experience. It has given you your favorite people, your real family. Out of the grief came goodness._ _

__

__Frisk breaks the circle first, joking about how you and Sans are cramping their style with all your lovey-dovey nonsense. They swipe away their tears with practiced nonchalance, then declare that they need to get going because Undyne is coming to pick them up for play practice._ _

__

__Pausing at the door, they tell you that the show they're starring in at school starts next week, and threaten to sic Undyne on you if you don't come. It brings a rare, genuine smile to their face when you make a big show of relenting, begging them to have mercy._ _

__

__When Frisk has gone, Sans takes their seat, and the two of you stay quiet for a while. The setting sun throws lovely purples and oranges onto his white bones, reminding you strongly of how he was the first thing you saw when you woke up on the surface one sunset, so long ago. His eyelights glow with a quiet ferocity you haven't truly noticed until now._ _

__

__“you ready to talk?” he asks after a while. His tone is even-keeled, but you can tell he's nervous._ _

__

__You nod, taking Sans' firm hands in yours. The skeleton takes a deep breath._ _

__

__“well, buckle up, 'cause things're about to get weird.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought!


	12. sentimental journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans finally explains himself.

i know i haven't exactly been the best boyfriend recently. heh, what's with that face? guess that's the understatement of the year, huh.

  


well, i didn't know how true that was until all of this happened. i had no idea what you were going through and i'm sorry. i'm sorry as hell.

  


i know i can't make it up to you, but maybe i can help you understand what you _did_ go through a little better. so just give me a little while to explain, and then we can finally talk about all this. you with me?

  


good.

  


uh. look. some of the stuff i'm about to tell you, it's...it doesn't exactly make me out to be the good guy. quite the opposite, actually. it makes monsters as a whole look pretty bad. and i'm not really good at talking about it, so just...be patient with me.

  


but i want you to know that i was kind of a different monster back then. not that that's any excuse.

  


i just don't want you to think any differently of me-

  


you know what, i'm just gonna start.

  


's a long time ago now. way before you and frisk fell.

  


see, toriel and asgore, they used to have two kids. i know, it's weird to think about, considering how they are now.

  


and all i really know about them is that one of 'em was biological – asriel - and the other one was the first human who ever fell into the underground. chara.

  


now, nobody knew why chara ended up there, but tori and asgore took them in and loved them like their own kid. Their son treated 'em just like a sibling. they were real close.

  


one day, uh...the two kids, they...they died.

  


they both died the same day, after going up to the surface. i can't really go into much detail about that. it happened a long time before paps and i, uh, moved to snowdin. and no one really talked about it after it happened.

  


anyway. you already know that there was a war between monsters and humans. well, those kids dying was what started it. it didn't last long. the humans were way too strong and outnumbered the monsters by a lot. so monsters lost and got banished to mount ebott and sealed there behind the barrier.

  


but here's the most pertinent part of that story.

  


the kid, the human kid, they...well, they _stuck around_ somehow after they died. i have no idea how it happened, and believe me, i tried to figure it out, but somehow they were able to affect the world after they'd left it.

  


the theory i have is that their soul is – _was_ – made of the same stuff that all you humans seem to have: determination. 'dt' for short. the difference is, their soul was made almost entirely of it. maybe the magic interacted with the dt somehow, i don't know.

  


i don't have a real good explanation of what dt even is. it's what i spent most of my time studying when i worked with the royal scientist, and it was infuriating that we never even came close to an answer. all we figured out for sure was that monsters didn't have it.

  


so, after the war was over, the king decreed that all the humans who fell into the underground from then on would be killed and their souls brought to him. that way, he could use the dt in them to break the barrier and free us. it doesn't sound too good, i know, but, uh. different times.

  


huh? the king already talked to you about all this? that's weird. i've never heard him so much as mention it.

  


well, anyway, so fast forward a few years. me and pap are living in snowdin. i'm working as an assistant to the royal scientist with alphys. being a lookout in the forest as a side job. yeah, that's what i was doing in the forest when we first met. by that point, i wasn't really interested in killing humans anymore, but...

  


but in the beginning, i, uh. i went along with the king.

  


i don't know how much you know, but you probably figured out by now that some other humans fell before you did, right? yeah. five of 'em, including chara.

  


most of 'em fell before i was really old enough to know what was happening. huh? oh, yeah, i was a little skell once. i'll tell you about it sometime. anyway, uh, where was i.

  


so, the rest of the humans who fell, they...well, they all died, too. some at the hands of monsters, some not. trust me, now that we know what we know, none of us are proud about how we treated you guys.

  


but there was something different about the human who fell right before you.

  


he, um...

  


i...

  


fuck, i need a minute.

  


the kid who fell before you.

  


i...

  


i was the one who killed him.

  


i know, i know. i can't even begin to explain. i don't blame you for whatever you decide to do about... _us,_ knowing this. but please, hear me out a little longer.

  


it...it was a long time ago. i believed humans were absolutely wrong and we were absolutely right. i'd heard how cruel they had been to us, both on the surface and underground. and i thought i was fully prepared to take one down the second i saw one. hell, i thought it was my _duty_.

  


and then this kid. he came through the door from the ruins one day. first human i ever saw in the flesh. not much younger than you. wearing some kinda costume, like a cowboy in those old human western movies.

  


and i knew right away that he had...that he had _killed_ monsters.

  


i knew because his clothes were dusty.

  


you wouldn't know this because you never even attacked a monster, but when monsters die, we...we turn to dust. and this kid...he had the dust of other monsters _all over_ him. and when i saw him, i just, i _knew_.

  


i saw it in his eyes. i felt it when he looked at me, like he was weighing the worth of my soul.

  


he wasn't...he was barely even human. something was _wrong_ with him.

  


i didn't make the connection until all this happened all over again with you, but i know now. chara got into his head somehow. took control of him, like they did with you.

  


i knew...or at least i thought, he had to be dealt with. knew he was just gonna kill whoever got in his way, whether of his own volition or not. and i couldn't even _bear_ the thought of anything happening to paps, so i...before anyone in snowdin saw him, i...

  


fuck.

  


i...

  


oh god...i killed the kid and delivered his soul to asgore.

  


and you know the worst part? the absolute fuckin' worst part? i didn't feel bad about it. not for a long time. i was so convinced that we were doing the right thing. that all humans wanted was to kill us. that i was doing a service by getting rid of this threat.

  


i'll never forget the look on the kid's face. wasn't his fault, he didn't deserve that, didn't...

  


alright. ok. sorry. i'll move on. thank you. thanks for stickin' with me so far. means a lot. not that you have much of a choice, i guess, being stuck in that bed.

  


anyway, so now the king had five souls. he needed seven. but after what i did...i told him i couldn't do that again. kind of halfheartedly promised to just keep an eye out for humans as a sentry instead. not that that was any better.

  


and then, after a few years, there was you.

  


when i saw that you didn't have any dust on your clothes at all, i felt something weird in my soul, like...hope. it'd been so long since i felt that, that it seemed like the first time. so i guess i...i don't know, i guess i got attached really quickly. i really believed in you. i wouldn't have followed just anyone around the underground, y'know. didn't hurt that you were goddamn beautiful and laughed at my dumb jokes.

  


you palled around with my bro like he wasn't a seven-foot-tall skeleton. you played with the monster kids. you danced with us, laughed with us, cared about us. you knew you were ten times as powerful as us, but it never even crossed your mind to use that to your advantage. you were the first human who ever got us, especially me, thinking there was actually a chance for something better.

  


huh? you want to know how? haven't you been listening? you were kind to us. didn't blame those of us that tried to hurt you, even when you were on the verge of losing your goddamn _soul,_ and that...that kind of compassion. that kind of integrity. it isn't exactly common. it gave us something to aspire to. something to hope for.

  


why do you think they've been trampling each other to visit you? despite all they did to you, you've spent every moment since you got back to the human world fighting for their equality. just because you didn't break the barrier doesn't mean you didn't save us.

  


so when asgore......god, it's hard for me to even say. when he...killed you and captured your soul, i just... _god_ , i felt like everything had been destroyed, all over again. for me, for all monsters. any chance of a peaceful reunion with humans was gone. and it was my fault for not being there to protect you from him.

  


and i don't really know why, but when you _died_ , i...i didn't give up like i would have before. it actually made me want to work _harder_ to break the barrier. to make things right between us and the humans, and without any more death. the way i knew you wanted things to be.

  


so when frisk came, i stuck with them. i befriended them. gave them tips and healed them. i wanted to keep their odds of actually making it to asgore as high as they could possibly be. i didn't see any of chara in them, not that i would have known at the time that it even _was_ chara, so i figured we might still have a chance.

  


i admit, my intentions weren't entirely pure...as sick as i was of monsters being trapped underground, as much as i wanted peace, i also really, really wanted to see you again. i thought that maybe if, i don't know, if the kid could convince the king to free the human souls...

  


i thought, maybe there was some way i could save yours.

  


but then something else really awful happened, while frisk was running from undyne in waterfall, like you did. see, monster kid ran after frisk, and ended up slipping off the bridge. and he...well, he fell down the ravine before frisk could reach him.

  


and undyne, she felt so awful, i thought she might join him. she knew that if she hadn't been trying to kill frisk, they could have saved m.k.

  


so naturally, the kid wanted to do that thing. you know. _r_ _eset_ everything somehow. yeah, i know about that. and i also know how it affects the world. well, partially, anyway. i think it takes a human soul with a lot of that dt stuff to do it. something about the magic concentration underground, maybe. resetting makes these sort of...alternate realities. you know, like the multiverse theory?

  


i used to study it as a sort of pet project. i think it creates these pathways where, even though only one thing is different, it could change everything.

  


and that's why i tried to step in before frisk could reset. i knew from past experience that, the more the world got changed, the higher the probability you would forget me. i knew i was a little more sensitive to the timeline jumps than the others for some reason, but i had no idea how it would affect someone who wasn't even alive anymore.

  


so i practically begged the kid not to reset, even though it would mean possibly saving monster kid's life.

  


i know, i can't believe it either. i...i kind of lost it a little bit. i was pretty ashamed of myself. still am. like i said, i'm not proud of the things i've done. but. my logic was, if there was a chance, even a microscopic one, that you would want to brave the surface with me...hell, even just as friends, i...

  


all i saw was you. all i saw was the way you made me feel after not feeling anything for so long. even though we hadn't known each other long, i don't know. more than anything else, i just wanted to see you again. and m.k. almost paid the price for my selfishness.

  


but i knew you would never let frisk sacrifice monster kid for you. so i came to my senses and backed off. frisk reset to some other point in time, before m.k. fell off the bridge, and stopped it. and, thank fuck, i was wrong. you _did_ remember.

  


when everything was said and done, when the kid saved us, the souls showed themselves. yours was there, blue as the sky i'd never seen. then, the souls started to leave. i saw yours starting to fly away and the fucking feeling i got...it was so horrifying.

  


it sounds awful to say it out loud, but I didn't care about the other souls. their bodies were long gone. i had to see if i could wake you up. and if i couldn't...i guessed i would just have to let your soul join the others.

  


without thinking, i grabbed it. just before it flew away, i reached out and grabbed it and brought it into me. and i immediately knew it was a mistake.

  


i kind of just started to... _melt_. that's why my bottom few ribs are sort of warped. your determination was too much for me. i'm just a monster. our bodies weren't meant to hold that much raw energy.

  


but your soul was so warm. so full of life. it made me a little jealous of how good it felt to have a human soul. i felt powerful, like my magic was being intensified. i had this insanely strong urge to hold onto it, keep it for myself. i kind of got why asgore wanted to collect them.

  


and i felt _you_. you were there, and you were reacting to me. even though i couldn't see you, i could _feel_ you, and how you felt about me, and...and i thought if nothing happened when i gave your soul back to you, i might go crazy.

  


so, while everyone was getting ready to leave for the surface, i ran back. i went down to that horrible basement where the humans' bodies were. i opened the tomb where you were being kept and gave you back your soul.

  


and god, when it _worked_. i found out the hope you gave me hadn't been for nothing, like it had been basically every other time in my life. you opened your eyes and looked at me and smiled and i decided that even if you didn't feel the same way about me, i could be ok with that.

  


it might be part of the reason why it took me so long to see how bad things have been for you. maybe i didn't want to believe it. so i pushed away all evidence to the contrary and distracted myself with work. i just wanted to get this damn machine built and working so we could finally have the relationship i knew we were capable of.

  


until frisk texted me a picture they took with you at the party. the kid knew something was up immediately and told me i should talk to you. even being so preoccupied, i could see that you didn't look like yourself. that's why i asked you to come over the day all that shit happened.

  


it's probably hard to believe, considering how distant i'd been, but i wanted to make sure you were ok. and damn it, i should have seen it when you were pulling me up to my room. hell, i should have seen it the second you walked in. you weren't yourself.

  


it's no excuse, but i was just so burnt out, so tired. i saw what i wanted to see and shut out what i didn't. i should have been paying better attention. i'm so sorry. if i had caught it then, maybe i could have prevented you from getting hurt a second time.

  


i suspect that my not being there for you when you were going through all that stressful shit with the embassy had a lot to do with chara's ability to get into your head and i'll never be able to change that. and seeing you standing there in the lab, so hurt, physically and emotionally, it was one of the worst feelings i've ever had. like snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. but you fought them, and you _won_. you forced them out without anyone's help, and you, you saved me. you knew just what to say to distract them.

  


i don't know if chara will come back. i don't know if we actually got rid of them. as much as i hate the thought, they might've survived somehow. the properties of dt and even magic are still largely a mystery. they weren't wrong – i do worry about it pretty consistently.

  


but we can't live with that hanging over our heads. we've got to enjoy what we have here and now. and for me, that means being with you. it means doing and being all the things for you that i haven't. i can never earn your forgiveness, but it won't stop me from trying. if you'll still have me, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all feels a bit anti-climactic, doesn't it? I had a much deeper, more impactful story in my head, but putting it to paper has been hard.
> 
> Anyway, as always, thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts! Best gifts ever.
> 
> Feel free to get in touch with me on my [tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/) \- I hope to use this break from school to draw and write more.
> 
> If you celebrate any holidays this month, I wish you the absolute happiest time you could possibly have. We deserve it, 2016 has been ass!


	13. Que Sera, Sera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Smut warning**
> 
> There's pizza, Ghostbusters, and sex. If that doesn't tickle your fancy, you...just have different tastes than me, I guess. ;)

Holy shit.

 

Holy _shit_.

 

You're...not sure what to think about everything you just heard.

 

It's a hell of a lot to take in. You need a minute to run through this in your head before saying anything to Sans. You know that a lot is riding on your response.

 

Sans just closes his eyes, leans over the bed and threads his fingers together to make a resting place for his forehead. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looks like he might pass out. Poor dear...must've taken a lot out of him to relay all of that. Better parse through this as best as you can.

 

Ok, so. Toriel and Asgore had a human kid, who died. Somehow, whether with the Underground's concentration of magic or by their own determination, that kid survived. Or was a ghost. Or something. Magic and determination really are a mystery, then, if even Sans isn't sure how it happened.

 

Then more humans fell over the years, and they all died too, in one way or another. That's...unsettling. You suddenly feel quite fortunate that you made it through the underground more or less unscathed. Well, until Asgore killed you, that is. What draws people to climb Ebott and fall into the Underground in the first place? Anyway. Focus.

 

The kid who fell before you wasn't just killed by any monster – he was killed by _Sans_. (That part doesn't frighten you as much as he was probably expecting.) And that's because Sans saw something evil about the kid. The kid had killed a lot of monsters in the Ruins. Which was actually Chara, acting through him??

 

As if reading your mind, feeling your perplexity, Sans begins to fidget slightly. You put a hand on his and that seems to calm him.

 

So when that cowboy kid died, Chara hung around again, like before? Maybe. And you realize then that Chara tried to go to work on you while you were underground too – you remember fleeting thoughts about how you were getting really tired of the monsters attacking you. Thoughts about how easily you could retaliate. It must have been the same thing that Sans was talking about with the cowboy kid...Chara tried to infect you and make you carry them, like a virus. To what end, you're still not sure. Probably something to do with resetting. Thank goodness it never went any further than thoughts.

 

Then, there were those months you were suspended in time or space or something after dying and you'd rather not dwell on that.

 

And you hadn't known that the whole reason you woke up from that awful sleep, the reason you're even able to think about all this, is that _Sans literally saved your life_. You didn't know about the incredible risk he had taken by carrying your Soul in his body. It could have killed him. But he survived and gave it back to you and now you're alive, able to listen to the lovely birdsong outside your window and watch clouds roll over the mountain that once held you all prisoner.

 

 _Alive_. What a wonderful thing to be. And all because of Sans.

 

But, of course that couldn't have just been the end of it. You couldn't have just basked in the bloom of newfound love. After you made it back to the surface, Chara came back. While you slowly succumbed to the loneliness and exhaustion of both you and your boyfriend working too much, they preyed on your weakened mind. Your mental state must have had an effect on your determination, which you're beginning to think of as some kind of inner strength? Or will to survive, or resilience? Somehow, maybe with that combination of magic and their own, impossibly high level of determination, Chara took advantage of that.

 

You remember what Chara said when they were facing off against Sans. At some point, they had tried the same tactic on Frisk. But Frisk's determination was too strong and Chara couldn't influence Frisk directly. They couldn't force Frisk to...reset the world or whatever. So, probably just because you happen to be close to Frisk, or maybe because of some other connecting factor, Chara used you instead. They isolated you from the friends and the work that gave you purpose.

 

It's fearsome to think just how easily and exactly Chara pinpointed your greatest fears – failing your friends, losing your love – and exploited them. How effortlessly they manipulated your very thoughts, making the world and the people in it seem like very hostile things – it was a state of mind that kept you anxious and afraid and allowed Chara even deeper into your psyche.

 

It's fearsome to think how, when you were forced to your breaking point, Chara took over your actual physical body and almost took away what you love most in this world. And, even when you gathered the strength (determination?) to refuse, they _stole your Soul_ and granted themselves a physical form...knowing that kind of power exists (exist _ed_ ) in the world is terrifying.

 

But when you think about it, the way you felt, the things you were thinking – that all humans are bad, that it isn't worth trying to work with them, that you should all just give up and go back underground...they really were the cries of a hurting child. This particular child just happened to have the resolve and to take revenge for their pain. And, you guess, their brother's. God, if only there were a way for Chara to know how you hurt for them. Would their resolve waver, like it did in the lab when you mentioned their sibling, or would they just laugh off your pity? It's for the best that you can't find out.

 

You think you've got it as figured out as you realistically can, but your head hurts.

 

Well, regardless of whether you fully understand it, you know for certain that what you all went through was a horrific thing. Sans was damn right about that. The pain meds are clouding your head a little too much for you to really process it right now, but you don't need to delve too deeply into your memory to encounter things that make you shudder. It's probably going to be that way for a long time.

 

You hated seeing Sans so disturbed by what he was telling you...that was hard. He had his skull in his hands for the most...gruesome...parts, but you could see his eyelights through his fingers, white pinpricks darting restlessly around inky craters. It took you right back to the lab and to the gut-wrenching fear that he would never look at you with those sockets again.

 

You know he's terrified that you think less of him for killing that human, but, perhaps naively, you don't. You have no reason not to trust him when he says that the cowboy kid had killed monsters and was probably going to go on to kill more. Maybe even kill Sans himself (although, after seeing him hold his own even against something as devastatingly powerful as Chara, you think that would be a fool's errand).

 

True, seeing him fight that way was intimidating. You had no clue that Sans had that kind of power – creating solid objects from nothing and giving them complex movement, teleporting, possibly more. But it also makes you feel safer.

 

Oops, Sans has been hanging on the silence a little too long. He's squirming a little but he never pressures you. When you clear your throat, he startles.

 

Sans sits up and you can almost physically feel him tense up, holding his breath. He's searching your eyes, not bothering to hide his anxiety. You take a deep breath and try to think of how to phrase the incredibly complex things you're feeling.

 

“Here's all I have to say about this,” you begin. Sans leans closer, and the shadows cast by the window shades slide up his skull, exposing his intent expression to pure moonlight. You falter a little at the sight, but quickly remember what you were going to say.

 

“As far as I'm concerned, you did what you had to do with that human. What you thought you had to do. Whatever. It was definitely unfortunate, but it wasn't your fault that Chara manipulated him. Either way, I don't blame you. And I'm not afraid of you.”

 

You grab his hand, knotting your fingers with his. Your ability to express yourself coherently is slowly being dulled by pharmaceutically-induced fatigue, so you want to get out as much as you can.

 

“What matters most to me is that we're both safe and that I...”

 

You take a deep breath.

 

“I love you, Sans.”

 

If Sans' jaw opened any wider, it might fall off.

 

“so...so, uh...does this mean we're still, uh...,” he swallows. “...us?”

 

“Sorry, you're stuck with me for the long haul,” you reply, giving him a reassuring smile. “Well...for the longest haul you can handle, because I can't help it. My Soul is hooked.

 

You get tired of me, you're gonna have to tell it to my Soul, and I don't even want to know what kind of weird magic that entails.”

 

Sans sits silently for a bit, staring at nothing. Then, he leans forward and embraces you, resting his skull on your chest.

 

“thank fuck. i love you too, so fucking much.”

 

Tears he shouldn't even be able to make start to collect at the corners of his sockets and spill over, falling too heavy and fast onto your heart, breaking it. You rub his back and kiss his skull, which is quickly being dotted by your own tears. The kiss he presses to your mouth in response is shaky, with a hunger behind it that you've never felt before.

 

“I do have one request,” you venture after a few comforting moments spent holding each other. ”Can we just...start over?”

 

You catch the frightened look that passes over his face for a fraction of a second, and quickly correct yourself: “Uh...but not like a reset or anything. I can't do that anyway. Chara figured that out a little too late. I just meant that I want to forget about all this and focus on what's here and now. You and I.”

 

“we don't need to start over,” Sans replies, shaking his head. “we just need to take it in stride and help each other move on.”

 

The night nurse – not the cool guy who usually attends to you, but a crotchety older lady – sticks her head in at that moment and you just about jump out of your skin (Sans, as usual, seems immune to being startled). She reminds Sans quite threateningly in her shrill voice that visiting hours were over half an hour ago and disappears back into the hall.

 

A little laugh passes between you and Sans stretches, stands and grabs his jacket. But before he leaves for the night, Sans gives you a warning.

 

The police have been informed that you're awake, he says, so you should expect them tomorrow morning.

 

Your heart immediately drops into your stomach. You hadn't thought of it until just now, but of course they're investigating the incident at the lab – all that damage will be hard to explain. Somehow you don't think “you know how it goes, officer, ghost kid attacks, what can you do” is going to cut it.

 

Sans explains that his bosses and co-workers have all agreed to stick to one consistent story: a crazed anti-monster activist vandalized and stole your car, crashing it into the creek. Then, they (or maybe an accomplice) broke into the lab (which has gained moderate media attention because of its joint human and monster staff, so it's reasonable that someone would know where it was) and assaulted you as a warning before escaping. You were there simply because you were delivering Sans' lunch, which he had left at home. No one got a good look at the made-up assailant, because they were wearing a mask.

 

It _sounds_ like a pretty good plan, but you're still nervous. What if you mess it up and everyone gets busted? If they find out that Sans' magic can be used to harm, they might try to run tests on monsters or something. And what about your injuries? Your broken ribs and nose are pretty consistent with a head-on car crash. And what if they ask you why you decided to walk the twelve miles to the lab instead of driving, or why you didn't report your car as stolen, or-

 

Sans pinches the bottom lip you're gnawing on and warns,”you're gonna wear a hole through it if you keep that up.”

 

He presses his mouth to your forehead, says goodbye, and starts for the door.

 

You ask him sheepishly when he'll be back, feeling a little pathetic, and more than a little scared of this police business. Sans considers this for a moment, then his grin grows mischievous (wow, that looks good on him). He says that, as long as it's ok with you, he'll be back right after he leaves.

 

“i know a shortcut,” he says with a wink, then walks out without another word, leaving you confused.

 

Sure enough, a few minutes later, he appears right beside your bed again. You jump and have to cover your mouth to keep from screaming while he snickers. Oh, you forgot he could do that. Goddamn teleporting skeletons. You think the flash of blinding blue light that announced him is definitely going to alert the nurses (especially that old crabby one), but they either didn't notice or don't care. Slightly troubling.

 

Either way, you're happy that Sans will be here with you through the night. The hospital is a lonely place, especially in the dark. You notice then that he's holding something behind his back and you crane your neck to see.

 

“oh, uh, i forgot these earlier,” Sans says timidly. He produces a bundle of the most intensely blue flowers you've ever seen – so vivid that they look unnatural. Your gasp of delight and grabby hands make his smile grow.

 

“they're irises,” he explains, giving you the bouquet, into which you promptly bury your nose. “figured the color was pretty appropriate. plus, they're apparently supposed to symbolize hope and valor. obviously that's also pretty accurate for you.”

 

Your face hurts from beaming and you thank him emphatically. When the irises are situated on your bedside table, Sans retakes his position beside your bed and asks what you want to do.

 

“I wasn't able to get very far in that book you brought me,” you respond, handing the novel to him. “Read it to me so it'll be like we're reading it together.”

 

He agrees, always eager to read something new, and his deep voice is incredibly soothing as he relays the story. You settle back into your pillow fortress and sigh contentedly.

 

You don't even make it past the first paragraph.

 

–

 

When you wake up the next morning, Sans isn't there, but there's a note on the bedside table.

 

_had to leave for a while, needed a shower. i'll be back later, after the cops are gone. call me if you need anything. i WILL answer. -s_

 

Wow, his handwriting is really awful. Come to think of it, this is the first time you've seen it. It makes you smile. That doesn't last long, because there's a stern knock at the door.

 

Oh gods, the police are here.

 

You tell them to come in, mentally facepalming when your voice cracks. Yeah, so natural. A woman and a man in dark blue uniforms file in, and you can't stop yourself from swallowing when their badges glint just a little menacingly in the fluorescent lights. Your nerves are calmed slightly by their casual tone. Even more so when they don't even bat an eye at your story and even apologize that you got wrapped up in all this. You have to try not to flinch when they promise you they'll do their best to catch the person who attacked you. Apparently satisfied, they leave without further ado. Thank goodness something is _finally_ going right.

 

Then, Tawny is there. Sans mentioned the other day that she wanted to visit, but you weren't expecting her to. Why would she? You're a little guarded at first, but she immediately treats you like she's known you for years. She adds her bouquet of get-well flowers to the veritable rainforest you've already collected and plops down in the chair next to your bed.

 

The two of you make small talk, and you're relieved when it isn't forced or awkward. You learn a little about what she does at the power company, and how excited she and all the other engineers are to have Sans and Alphys on board, and how proud they and their bosses are of their monster co-workers' accomplishments.

 

“And oh my gosh, Sans talks about you, like, _all_ the freakin' time,” Tawny says at one point with an affectionate eyeroll. “I'm so glad I finally got to meet you.”

 

“Well, that's good news,” you admit, feeling more at ease all the time. “For a while there, I thought it was just _you_ he talked about all the time. I hear you're sort of a genius.”

 

“Oh, _honey,_ ” Tawny laughs, “He's great and all, but even if I wanted to get in on that skeleton action, I know he's locked down. Sheesh, he won't let us forget it.”

 

The woman's face turns serious.

 

“And really, it's Sans and Alphys who are the geniuses. The reason I came was to thank you for being so patient while we took up all your boyfriend's time. We had no clue what we were doing with all this...magic stuff.

 

Our bosses were totally open-minded and gave them total support, but that machine they wanted to build was complicated as hell. I know it probably put a strain on you guys, but we really needed his help, and you stuck it out like a champ.”

 

Oh, haha, if only she knew. You just keep smiling politely.

 

“I still don't really know what happened in there,” she continues, “But I guess there's a whole lot about our new neighbors we don't understand yet. I'm just glad everything's gonna be ok.”

 

She seems to be taking the sight of Souls and ethereal murderous children and magical battles to the death pretty well.

 

“Oh, and I have some good news. We haven't told Sans yet, but the CEO wants to give him and Alphys the next few weeks off as thanks for all their amazing work. And, in Sans' case, for protecting us from that...thing.”

 

After a little more pleasant conversation and a promise to hang out sometime, Tawny leaves for the lab. You can't believe you're thinking it, considering everything that happened just a few days ago, but you might actually end up being friends with her.

 

Moments later, you get a text from Sans.

 

_Sans_ |  _2:35 PM_

look at this text i just got from tawny

FWD: omfg she is like the cutest thing ever she just sat there all radiant like some serene goddess or smth you are a lucky man sans

 

_Sans_ |  _2:35 PM_

should i be worried about you guys? i mean

 

You laugh aloud for the first time in what feels like forever and it feels great.

 

–

 

“Your sentence is up, you've served your time,” your nurse announces one morning, looking like a kid who got everything they wanted for Christmas. “Time to go home.”

 

You can't stop yourself from doing a little dance, even though it still hurts to move. Finally! Time to get the hell out of here. The hospital smell has not grown on you and you're bursting at the seams to get back to normal life with your normal, non-possessed brain.

 

Sans arrives soon after you call him, accidentally teleporting into your room in his excitement, then remembering he has to be seen actually walking into the building. Even if humans are slowly becoming accustomed to the weird ways of monsters, some things are still too weird.

 

He's brought you a fresh set of clothes, thank goodness, and sets about helping you out of bed to change. You learn the hard way that EKG pads hurt like hell to pull off. Sans tries to “help”, which devolves into you giggling and worming out of his reach as he tries to rip them off.

 

Once you're dressed, Sans and the nurse help you into a wheelchair, despite your insistence that you can walk perfectly fine. You both thank the nurse for looking after you and turn to your boyfriend, grinning.

 

“Take me home, vertebabe,” you command.

 

Sans seems to enjoy wheeling you too quickly down the long hallways and you can't help the shrieks of laughter that come bursting out of you in response. Your lungs burn from making up all that lost time.

 

The flowers that are still alive get carried downstairs, but you hold the ones Sans brought you – still radiating so blue that you'd swear they're glowing – in your lap. You can barely wait to get home and plant the cuttings in the garden you and Sans never got to finish. You're looking forward to doing a lot of things you and Sans never got to finish.

 

\--

 

Seems like Sans was really serious about letting him take care of you once you got home.

 

He's been using his extended vacation from work to oversee your recovery. At first you were embarrassed about it – you didn't want him thinking he had to wait on you hand and foot, even if it was admittedly pretty nice having him spend all this time with you. You felt terrible that he was constantly at your place and running your errands. Even though Papyrus said he would absolutely love to have you as an extended guest, you would have felt awful about imposing, so you spent most of your time on your couch, having your every need attended to by your vigilant skeleton assistant.

 

After a couple of weeks, it's become a very comforting routine. Sans is pretty great at taking care of you, letting you see a very nurturing side of him that you'd only ever seen him show to Papyrus on occasion. He helps you bathe as if it were the most natural thing, being extremely careful of your injuries, whistling atonally or telling you tales of the pre-you Underground the whole time. Since you can't raise your arms very far without experiencing sharp pain in your sides, he's also taken it upon himself to wash and brush your hair. Styling it in the weirdest ways he can think of just to make you laugh seems to be a new favorite past-time of his. When you're getting ready for bed, he brushes your teeth with one hand and his with the other. He's more diligent than you are about changing the bandages on your face and putting ice on your healing ribs and giving you your pain meds.

 

Sucks that you had to be seriously wounded for all of this bonding to happen, but it's still awesome. The two of you spend your days showing each other favorite movies (this is when you learn that Sans is a sci-fi fanatic – when he was younger, some human on the surface had apparently done a great casting off of Star Trek stuff that ended up at the garbage dump, so Sans ended up with almost the entire show and since then he's watched just about everything in the genre). At night he holds you close, gently so that he won't hurt you, and having your limbs tangled up with his is some kind of heaven you didn't know existed.

 

And when you jolt upright in a cold sweat from nightmares full of seething black nothingness and the acrid smell of ozone, he's right there, rocking you and not caring one bit that you're begging for his life and can't keep yourself from crying.

 

You and Sans get front-row tickets to the play that Frisk is in at school, and you didn't know until that night that they actually had the starring role. Frisk is surprisingly talented and expressive, considering how stoic they usually are. Even if you didn't know Frisk, you think you would have still given them a standing ovation. Seeing Toriel again is a little awkward, but when you try to apologize for her having to take your place so suddenly at the conference, she actually hugs you and thanks you for all you were able to do.

 

You, Sans and Frisk decide not to tell her or the King about Chara. They've been through enough grief.

 

As promised, Mettaton has you on his talk show. Your previous appearance on national television, as humiliating as it was, still helps boost the ratings of that night's episode. You get to talk about your work with the Embassy, happy to use Mettaton's platform with a growing human fanbase to promote the issue of monster rights. (But, of course, this is Mettaton we're talking about here – your appearance also involves the two of you doing each other's makeup to hilarious effect, all of which is captured and put on the internet to the tune of a couple million views.)

 

But, of course, nothing lasts forever – good things even less so.

 

Eventually, you've healed enough to go back to work. Muffett still demands that you take it easy while doing shifts at the bakery, much to Burgerpants' trademark annoyance, but at least she lets you do your job (mostly). She lectures your co-worker about how he should reach things that are on high shelves because of your injuries, and that he should make sure you take breaks or leave early if you need to. The look on the cat monster's face when Muffett turns around – a level of offense so intense that words couldn't do it justice - has you fighting laughter (owww). Seems Muffett's place is getting busier by the day, but you couldn't be happier. It feels great to be helping your friends again.

 

Sans goes back to working at the lab, but his hours are normal again. And when he has to stay a little later or go in a little earlier, you're relieved to find that it doesn't bother you one bit. Without Chara blocking out the voice of reason, it's easy to keep in mind that he's doing something incredibly important for both humans and monsters.

 

That machine you saw - the towering, alien thing in the center of the cavernous room that looms in your nightmares – was apparently entirely his and Alphys' design. He explains that its purpose is similar to that of the underground's Core, which he and Alphys also worked on, just on a much grander scale. Sans explains its processes with great excitement and you swell with pride thinking about how, if this project is successful, he might be partially responsible for the greatest renewable energy development in decades.

 

It makes you happy when, after you express fear that he could lose his job if the company ever found out that he divulged some of those privileged details to you, he just shrugs and says, “you're my girlfriend. there are other jobs.”

 

The thing you've been fearing the most, however, is returning to your job at the Embassy.

 

When the king and Toriel returned from the conference a few weeks ago, things got even more hectic for you and the other volunteers. It's a little tough, adjusting to the even more frantic pace of managing the Embassy's contact with the press, and your ribs still ache occasionally, but you try your best. You're absolutely determined not to let anyone, human _or_ monster, think that you're going to let your setback keep you out of the monster rights game.

 

And suddenly, it almost kind of seems to be paying off.

 

Turns out Mettaton's show isn't the only opportunity you get to advertise the Embassy. The phones start ringing off the hook with interview and appearance requests from radio and television shows, local and beyond. The Embassy's volunteers rise to the task admirably, but you convince the King to start hiring part-time staff. (When you do, he even officially hires you.) It's crazy to think that, just a year ago, it felt like you were screaming into the void. Now, the whole world has its eyes on your monster friends.

 

You can hardly believe it, but monsters' rights protests have started erupting all over the place. First, it was just a handful of small gatherings in front of Ebott's tiny town hall. Now, on the new TVs Asgore brought in, you're seeing daily coverage of a new group that's popping up and demanding monster equality. It's so moving to finally be able to see that a lot of humans are behind you. Of course, there are tons of dissenters, many of whom are equally vocal, but you look forward to trying to change their minds.

 

And through it all, you work equally hard on keeping things steady between you and Sans. Even though you're both working your asses off, you still commit to talking to and seeing him as much as you can.

 

Then, one day, the call you never thought you'd receive comes from the country's capital. The entire office gathers around your desk and erupts into cheers when you breathlessly report that a member of the Justice Department wants to represent the monster cause in the government by starting a commission. It's not a guarantee, but it's a start.

 

–

 

For some reason, you can tell today is going to be good.

 

You and Sans are both off, and you've agreed to meet him at his place and watch yet another movie. Continuing the trend you started during recovery, the two of you have been working your way through a backlog of great 80's comedies recently, and you were thinking of showing him _Ghostbusters_ tonight since he's somehow never seen it and you know he'll love it.

 

You pack up the ingredients to make a hella good pizza (the way to a man's Soul is through his...uh...stomach, after all), and set out for the skeleton brothers' house. You still haven't gotten around to replacing your car after the Chara incident, but you don't mind walking. The weather is perfect for it anyway, chilly and with the crisp smell of snow on the wind.

 

You try not to think about the fact that, one of the last times you made this trek, you were someone else.

 

When you knock on the front door of the brothers' little green house, you're greeted by a barrage of yaps and the sound of claws scrambling on the hardwood floor. Sans' voice follows soon after, shushing the dog, and when he opens the door, he's holding her.

 

“How's it hangin'?” you greet him, and try to take the wriggling white pomeranian from his arms, but she jumps down and skitters away. That's a little disheartening, but it's not too strange nowadays. It used to be that Arial couldn't wait for you to pick her up so she could cover your face in frantic, slobbery kisses. The realization hit you a while ago that you might have scared her (or worse) while you weren't yourself. Maybe if you gave her some time, you guessed she'd get used to you again.

 

“a little to the left,” Sans responds with a wink, and roars with laughter at his own joke as you playfully punch his arm and move inside. He stretches out on the couch and displays his talent for falling asleep almost instantly,one slippered foot propped up on the ottoman, the other stretched out on the floor. He snores in time with Arial, who is perched contently in his lap.

 

On your way to the kitchen, you take a minute to check on the flowers you planted in the brothers' garden after you left the hospital. You're ecstatic to see that the blue blossoms are thriving in the carefully cultivated, makeshift greenhouse you and Sans built over them.

 

Papyrus is upstairs, getting ready for his big night out to a taping of Mettaton's talk show, but soon joins you when he hears that you're in the kitchen. You aren't surprised when the taller skeleton insists on his favorite pasta being used a topping. You compromise and designate half of the pizza as his, piling some leftover spaghetti from the fridge (complete with meatballs) as high as is safe onto his side of the pie and he's absolutely delighted, thanking you with a crushing hug.

 

While you're spreading cheese on the pizza crust, Sans calls out from the living room to see if you want any help. “Thanks, but I'm fine,” you call back, wiping the sauce on your hands onto a towel. “You should just relax. I know you've had _such_ a hard day.”

 

“you don't even know. at one point i even had to get up and move to the other end of the couch to get the remote. whoof.”

 

“DO NOT LET HIM FOOL YOU, HUMAN,” Papyrus chimes in with annoyance. “IF MY BROTHER SPENT ANY MORE TIME ON THE COUCH, HE WOULD FUSE TO IT AND BECOME A SOFA TOMATO, AS YOU HUMANS SAY.”

 

You're laughing too hard to correct him.

 

Arial plays at your feet while you cook, having apparently warmed up to you, and takes breaks from chasing her tail to beg for pepperoni with an adorable little dance on her hind legs. You don't give in to her manipulation, but you do slip her way more than her daily allowance of dog treats. You realize that this is probably why Sans says she likes you best.

 

Sans rubs his hands together excitedly as you place the pizza on the beat-up coffee table in front of the couch. The brothers don't have room for a proper dining table, so they take their meals in front of the TV. Both are good eaters – there's only a small slice left for you when they're finished demolishing it. You don't mind, though. Watching them enjoy the food you made, joking and laughing at the tiny table, feels like home.

 

After the pizza has been thoroughly demolished, Papyrus deposits his plate in the sink and goes to put his sneakers on. As he passes on his way out the door, the brothers share a fist bump, and the taller of the two laughs that endearing cartoon-villain cackle.

 

“GOODBYE, BROTHER AND OUR MUTUAL HUMAN COMPANION. DO NOT WAIT UP FOR ME, FOR I SHALL BE LONG IN THE THROES OF IDOL WORSHIP!”

 

“later, bro.”

 

“See ya, Paps.”

 

With Papyrus gone, you decide to leave the dishes for later and start the movie. You direct Sans to sit on the floor in front of the couch, and when he does, you situate yourself on the sofa behind him. While Slimer wreaks havoc on the screen, you skim your fingers over the bones that aren't hidden by Sans' t-shirt. Your intentions are pure at first – you just want to help him loosen up a couple of vertebrae that have been bothering him lately. First you massage his clavicles, then move to the vertebrae that are exposed by the loose shirt. He relaxes completely, leaning into your touch and humming contentedly.

 

“i could just sit here and let you do that forever,” he sighs as you run your fingers over the back of his skull. It doesn't take long for his bones to start heating up little by little under your caresses. Sans doesn't say anything about it, probably just trying to ignore it, but you don't need to see the swell that's formed in his shorts to know what's going on.

 

You bite your lip, trying to decide what to do next. You're more than ready to take the next step with Sans – have been for a while, really, but then all that... _stuff_ happened. You vaguely recall that, right before you showed up at the lab, you had pushed him to have sex with you. It was out of some weird need to make him stay with you, when in reality he wasn't going to go anywhere. It was just Chara fucking with your head. You're not sure if Sans will be comfortable enough to go any further with you with the memory of that day hanging over the whole thing.

 

While you were healing, he never broached the subject of sex, not even foreplay. Anytime you tried to instigate anything, he'd protest, and it's been driving you crazy. You know he didn't want to upset your recovery, and you appreciate that. But you're all healed up now, and very interested in clearing the air in that particular area. Oh, what the hell. There's no harm in trying. The worst that can happen is that he says 'no' and you talk through it. Like he said in the hospital, you have to work through problems like that together.

 

Without saying a word, you slowly move your hands lower and lower, massaging each segment of his spine through his shirt. The sounds Sans is making, combined with the feeling of his body writhing at your touch, have you wet in no time. It's pretty obvious that neither of you is particularly interested in the mishaps of Peter Venkman and co. at the moment.

 

When you reach the bottom of his spine, you lift his shirt just the slightest bit and drag your fingertip over just the edge of his pelvic bone. When he responds positively, you lean forward and, trying to mask your trembling voice, say, “Want to move this upstairs?”

 

You forgot how fast Sans can move – in an instant, the movie is paused and he's turned toward you, eyes wide.

 

“but, uh, but, what about your ribs? are you still-”

 

“I'm fine,” you interrupt, running a hand over his hard, smooth cheek. “Promise. I just...”

 

You bite your lip, and Sans watches this intently, unblinking.

 

“I just want you.”

 

Sans jumps at this, clearly not expecting such a direct proposition, but his grin is mirthful. Apparently not wanting to waste any time, he stands and helps you up.

 

“admit it,” he says in a joking tone. “you've wanted me since the beginning.”

 

“Oh, sure,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “The first thing I thought when I saw you wasn't 'oh shit, I hope these skeleton monsters don't kill me', it was 'I want to fuck the small one'.”

 

Sans is laughing, and this time it's him pulling you up the stairs to his room. Your heart is pounding, fit to give out. Even though this was your intention, it's still pretty nerve-wracking. All this tension has been building long before that one night in your room. You're considering giving in to your anxiety and backing down, but then decide that you're ready.

 

Sans opens his bedroom door and steps into the darkness, pulling you in after him. While you stand behind him, hardly able to move because your heart's beating so fiercely, he clears a path through the junk to his bed and climbs onto it.

 

You couldn't have asked for a better backdrop. Moonlight is streaming in so brightly through the windows and shines on Sans so ghostly white that it takes your breath away. The snow has just begun falling outside the open window and everything smells crisp and clean and like Sans. Seeing him resting on his knees, waiting, watching you with such a candidly eager and yet nervous look in his eyes, it makes your heart swell with a weird and wonderful feeling. The man you love and admire so fervently is here with you in this perfect moonlight with nothing at all to get in the way.

 

You make your way over to the bed and bend down to kiss Sans, who reciprocates keenly. There's a neediness about even this small amount of contact that tells you there won't be much delay. Going with that feeling, you put his hands on the hem of your shirt. He catches the hint and pulls it off painfully slowly, dragging his hands along every inch of the skin he's exposing. The cold in the air and the heat of his bones combine on your skin and you see goosebumps form at the lovely sensations.

 

“Nothing fancy,” you direct. “I just want you.”

 

Sans doesn't say anything – he seems a little tongue-tied at the sight of you topless on his bed – just nods and starts pulling his shirt over his head. Seeing his naked ribcage sends a pulse of desire downwards, and your hands can't help but explore the fascinating texture of the bones forming his torso. Every groan, every clench of Sans' eyes makes you a little wetter.

 

But when your eyes slide down to his damaged bottom ribs, your eyes instantly threaten to fill with tears at the memory of his sacrifice. You pause to kiss them tenderly and know that you won't soon forget the risk he took to save you. Those scars of sorts are a mark of his devotion, of what he's willing to go through for you. It makes everything you're about to do even more meaningful.

 

After months of anticipation, Sans finally shows you exactly what you felt pressing against your back that night in your room; apparently he can form things other than bones (har har) with his magic, and this particular thing is extremely pleasing to the eye. Hovering over his pelvic bones is a considerable and very hard dick that's a close approximation of a human male's.

 

Genuine fascination pushes your arousal out of the way for a moment and you look at Sans' face to carefully gauge his reaction before reaching out to touch it lightly with one hand. It's hot and makes your skin tingle, just like the rest of his magic. He jumps and swears, already looking like he's about to unravel. Sans' dick is rigid and enticingly smooth, like glass but more flexible. The urge to put your mouth on it comes over you, but you remember your own request – you can't wait much longer. You need to do him, now. You can explore each other later.

 

You can hear the snow falling outside – that's how completely silent it is when you finally position yourself over him. Neither of you are breathing, and both of you are shaking.

 

The process is slow, almost tortuously so, as you lower yourself onto Sans. Your slickness makes things easier though, and just having the head of his cock inside you is an incredible feeling; that tingly sensation it gives off is stranger and even more wonderful on the inside. Sans covers his face with his hands and muffles his moan, but you pull them away, needing to hear his pleasure as much as you need to feel it.

 

By the time you fit the entire shaft inside, Sans is gripping the sheets and looking up at you in what looks like shock. You don't want to give yourself time to adjust. You want to see him come undone so badly, maybe even more than you want to reach your own peak. So you move.

 

All sorts of beastly noises come from the skeleton's throat as you rise up, coating his member with your wetness before guiding yourself downward again. The unsteady rhythm you build up to provides a perfect amount of friction that makes your orgasm build alarmingly quickly. Sans' scorching hands are everywhere, gripping your wrists as your hands rest on his ribcage, grasping at your thighs, then your hips.

 

He's trying to hold back - you can tell by the way he's clenching his eyes shut and breathing through his teeth. That won't do at all. You grind your hips to a halt and sit back a little, waiting.

 

“oh, don't do that,” he pleads, catching the drift and trying to avoid returning your gaze. ”if you let me do it, i'm gonna...f-, ah, _fuck_ , i'm gonna come too fast.”

 

“Me too,” is your only teasing response before you pull yourself up to Sans' tip and stay there, goading him on. He growls in frustration and grabs your waist, slamming up into you full force, all the way to the hilt. The squeal you let out in response is sure to have woken the neighbors.

 

Sans' pace is hectic with need and every thrust sends electric jolts throughout each nerve in your sweat-slicked body. And he was right, he doesn't last much longer. You don't, either. His movements are unpracticed, graceless, but they get the job done for both of you.

 

All that pent-up tension, lust, despair, desire, everything is released all at once and Sans cries out so forcefully that his alto voice cracks. He climaxes while he's deep inside you, coating you with come so hot it almost scalds you.

 

When you collapse onto him, Sans presses your body against him as though you were about to dissolve into dust. He cradles your head to his chest like a precious jewel while your breathing slows and you both come down from the massive high. When you look up at him, you see that the lazy smile you love so much is tinged with incredulity.

 

When everything quiets down again and you've cleaned each other off with a long, hot shower, you lay facing each other in Sans' bed, fighting sleep, not wanting the night to end. It feels like falling in love all over again. It takes you right back to the Underground, when you were watching Sans and wishing you could tell if he was being friendly or more than that and feeling the pull of longing every time he vanished. You hadn't known it then, but this was exactly what you wanted.

 

And the memories that still cling to your brain like a tumor, the memories that aren't yours, you'll hold onto them. Partly because you have no other choice, and partly out of a desire to cherish and respect what the King's child shared with you, however unwittingly. You'll hold onto that child's fear and loathing and profound love as long as you live because you're the only one who knows about it now. As much as Chara would surely detest the thought, they are a part of you.

 

But that won't hinder you. Like Sans said, you're going to make the best of what happened and keep pressing forward, together. You'll navigate the hitherto unknown territory of monster-human cooperation and cohabitation and you'll make sure you're successful because you need this skeleton – so strong, so frail – to be with you in the adventure you sense is coming to all of you. The long-sleeping sensation of excitement for the future is awake now, and your Soul is blazing with it.

 

But that's tomorrow. Or the next day. Hell, it could never come, for all you care, because right now you are safe and loved and so in love.

 

You've heard of the red thread of fate, but you imagine that the cord tethering you and Sans together is bright blue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my friends, it has been a long and highly enjoyable journey. 
> 
> I can't thank my readers enough for following this mess of a story despite the long time between updates. It was nowhere near as complex or moving as I imagined; This was my first multi-chapter fic, so it's clearly rough around the edges, but hey, lessons were learned. 
> 
> I'm working on a smutty epilogue for this fic, as well as a standalone Valentine's Day special (prompted by the wonderful Sansylicious). Also currently writing additional chapters for my other 2 Sans/Reader one-shots ([Italian Wedding Soup](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7462008) & [Is It A Crime?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8188190)). So be on the lookout if any of that interests you!
> 
> As always, you can talk to me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/) or leave me a comment, I love responding to you guys!
> 
> Again, thank you thank you _thank you_. You've made writing this hulking mass of angst one of the best things I did all year, and I literally couldn't have finished it without your encouragement.
> 
> ( **EDIT** : Here's the [list of songs](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/post/156217709303/the-most-human-color-chapter-names) that I took the chapter titles from, if you're interested in indulging my intense midcentury obsession.)


	14. Epilogue - Pas de Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't sure if I should post this on the main fic or in the optional supplemental chapters, since it involves a backstory that's outlined [over there](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557/chapters/17567827). 
> 
> In the end, I figured it's harmless to have a few lines about Reader being a ballerina that might confuse a few people, seeing as the main point is the smut anyway. Let me know if I'm wrong about that.

Good, there's no one here.

 

The jingle of the keys in the lock echoes through the small room as the door swings open, giving you access to a blissfully vacant, dark studio. It's much too late for anyone to have booked rehearsal time, you made certain of that before venturing over here, technically after-hours.

 

You walk across the polished wooden floor, footsteps almost deafeningly loud in the empty space. No need to turn on the lights – the orangeish glow of a streetlamp outside provides just enough illumination to the small room. Your bag gets relegated to the corner, and you can't help but smile to yourself when you pull your gorgeous blue pointes from it.

 

Marveling at the sheen of them, even in such a dimly-lit place, you think back to when Sans surprised you with these. You forget how long ago you started taking classes at this private studio, but before your first lesson, your boyfriend gave you these pointes to celebrate. He was so excited to see you getting back into your old passion, and was so proud that you decided not to give it up. You're going to wear those shoes until they can't be worn anymore, you decided.

 

And since then, you've made friends and had a great time getting the hang of dancing again. The owner, impressed with your dedication and willingness to help out, doesn't even mind if you sneak in a little extra private practice, as long as you leave everything as it was when you came.

 

You lace the gossamer ribbons around your ankle with practiced precision and stand, going to the barre to warm up.

 

You definitely needed this. It's been a hell of a week.

 

First, you and Asgore continued the conversation that he tried to have with you over dinner during that dreadful conference. True, you didn't leave in a panic this time, but it was still uncomfortable. You heard him out and finally gave him what he wanted – official absolution. You appreciated the king's efforts, but you'd been doing so well at keeping that whole fiasco from your mind (and dreams). Revisiting it was hard.

 

Then, you found some kind of weird stain on the kitchen ceiling in your apartment. Well, turned out that stain was mold, so you had to move out for a few days while your cute little kitchen was demolished. On the bright side, you get to stay with Sans, but you just know that your landlord's going to be a dick about coughing up the money to cover the costs. You anticipate a tiring battle when he tries to blame you somehow.

 

Plus, you and the king have about seven million appearances scheduled for the next few weeks, and that means travel and spending money and getting talked down to by some of those asshole hosts and their asshole guests and UGH. Even with burgeoning political interest in the subject, saying monsters are still a long way off from achieving legal protections is the understatement of the year.

 

Yep, you definitely needed this.

 

Sufficiently stretched, you start the music over the studio's loudspeakers and run through the routine you're learning in class now. It's nothing complicated, a lot of sweeping adagio movements with minimal pointe work, and all set to a slow tempo.

 

It's a lot less intense than what you were working on when you left the academy, but you're absolutely fine with that. The way they talk about the academy around here, you hope you never have reason to set foot there again anyway.

 

It's when you're up on the tip of that foot for an arabesque that you hear Sans' voice behind you.

 

“you look really _on_ _pointe_ there.”

 

Your surprised shriek rings unpleasantly off the walls as you slip off your toes, but thankfully Sans catches you with his magic before you face-plant.

 

“I thought I locked the door,” you pant. Once released from Sans' intangible hold, you regain your balance and double-check the doorknob incredulously. “How did you even get in here??”

 

Sans stops wheezing with laughter long enough to explain: “shortcuts, remember?”

 

Oh, right. You did tell him you would be here. He must have gotten off work and come right over. That's weird...you didn't even hear the trademark roar of that new motorcycle he's so proud of.

 

As Sans steps closer, his smile is lazy, but his eyes are deceptively calculating.

 

“i'm not your average skeleton boyfriend,” he continues with a smirk. “plus i can sense your soul from practically across town. it gives off a pretty strong signal.”

 

The implication of that statement sinks in and makes you stop in your tracks on your way over to your bag.

 

“Uh...can any monster see it from that far? That's rather distressing.”

 

With his focus broken, Sans laughs out, “just me.”

 

He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, eyes softening, voice quieting.

 

“just me.”

 

You look up at him from your position kneeling on the floor, wiping away the sweat you worked up before you were so rudely interrupted.

 

“Well, what I said in the Underground still applies,” you say with a smile. “I, like most humans, am averse to having skeletons stalk me. Even hot ones.”

 

Sans comes across the floor to join you, taking your hand when you hold it out to him. He rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

 

“stop worrying already. i can only get an exact location when i'm really close.”

 

Reassured, you stuff the towel back into your bag and start unlacing your pointes, deciding you'd rather go home with Sans and watch a movie or something. You're too distracted now anyway.

 

“so, you gonna show me what you were working on?” Sans asks suddenly, and when you turn around, he's pulling a folding chair out of the supply closet. “seeing you move that way is really sexy. i didn't know you were this good.”

 

“Not really,” you scoff, still a little unnerved when Sans gives you a compliment. “I mean, I've just been doing it for a long time.”

 

Sans positions the chair right in the middle of the room and sits. He leans back, crossing his arms.

 

“fuck that. if i tried to move like that, i'd end up flat on my bony ass. do all humans sell themselves that short, or is it just you?”

 

Clearly, he isn't going anywhere. You balk a little at the idea of letting Sans see you dance, especially when you're doing a number you haven't rehearsed much.

 

But that devilish look he has suggests that it wouldn't much matter if you did the chicken dance – Sans just wants to see you move. Well, that's what you came here to do anyway. You shrug an acceptance of Sans' proposal and move to the center of the room, right in front of him.

 

The song you were previously dancing to has restarted a few times during your conversation, so you wait for the start while Sans just watches, kicked back in the metal chair. The now-familiar tune begins again, and you let muscle memory take over – you're pleased to see that you're getting the hang of it. What you aren't expecting is the added trombone accompaniment.

 

You shoot Sans a look of astonishment at how he could have snuck something as big as a trombone in without you noticing, but he just winks. He doesn't let you hear him play very often – about as often as you let him see you dance – so it's easy to forget how musically talented Sans is. His rhythm is spot-on and he adds the perfect amount of swing to the otherwise stuffy classical music with his improvisation.

 

It might be cheesy, but it's really an ideal metaphor for being in love with him – he embellishes a life that was okay on its own, improving it so powerfully with his mere presence, entwining himself with your own narrative so tightly that it's hard to tell where you end and he begins.

 

Sans stares holes through you as he plays, eyelights following every shift of your body. It feels incredibly intimate. Self-consciousness and doubt have no place here. It's just you, Sans, and the music.

 

You don't get much further in the routine this time, either.

 

After a slightly sloppy grand jeté, the music suddenly cuts out. With both feet on the floor again, you whip around to ask Sans what's up. You freeze when you see him. Only half of him is visible in the meager light coming through the window. You can only see one eye, and its light is out.

 

“i think we need to go home. right now.”

 

A chill crawls up your spine at his not-at-all-ambiguous tone. Something heavy and carnal forms in your gut and travels down to your groin. You like where this is going.

 

Sans walks towards you with a purposeful stride that makes your heart beat faster. When he grabs your hand, you blink once and the studio is gone. You're sitting in your car in the studio parking lot.

 

He's teleported you once or twice, usually for convenience, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the dizzying sensation of blinking across time and space.

 

Did he really...? Yes, he really did position you so you'd land on his lap. Tsk, tsk.

 

But you can't give him a chastising look when he's nipping at your neck like that. You hear nothing but the legions of crickets outside and a barking dog way off in the distance and Sans' breathing in your ear. His warm, hard hands are roaming all over you, massaging your breasts, your hips, your clit.

 

Ever since you first had sex, he's been getting more and more sure of himself, and that in itself is a major turn-on. He's learning how to please you and seems very eager to do so whenever you're up for it. Every union has the blue thread of fate tightening around your Soul, until you'd swear you can actually feel it.

 

“This wasn't what I...had in mind when I drove over here,” you protest playfully between wet kisses. “I have a feeling...we aren't going to...make it home.”

 

“me either,” he responds, “but if i don't have you right now, christ, i think i might explode. you look so damn good.”

 

You feel the telltale sign of his arousal strained against his basketball shorts, and it feels so good pressing up against your most sensitive spot. You can't keep yourself from rocking against him.

 

“You know, you don't...have to make a dick every time,” you breathe, struggling to speak but feeling that it's important to say. “you know we can, _ah..._ make each other feel...amazing without i-”

 

“this is how I want to do it tonight,” he says with conviction in his deep voice that makes your stomach flutter. Then, he looks a little concerned. “unless, uh, you don't want-”

 

You interrupt him with a forceful grind against his pelvis, making you both gasp.

 

“Ok, but if you...make any jokes involving trombones, or any...other _bones_ for that matter, I'm leaving you here and never...never coming back.”

 

You move the fabric of your own shorts aside, revealing the results of your own lust – the panties underneath are soaked. Those, too, get pushed out of the way. Then, you tug at the waistband of Sans' shorts, freeing his erection.

 

Without pause, he grabs your waist and lifts you up a little, positioning you in just the right spot. In Sans' haste, the slick head of his thick cock bumps into the outside of your folds a little hard, missing your entrance. You try to laugh but it comes out as a groan.

 

You correct the angle and shove yourself down onto him, forgetting to compensate for gravity, and Sans absolutely _howls_. Moving in this cramped space is a little awkward, but it doesn't matter one bit. You brace yourself against the dashboard and do your best to ride him. Judging by Sans' cursing, you'd say your efforts are successful.

 

Your thighs are burning but you keep up the rapid, steady pace that you know drives your boyfriend wild, and you love watching him come undone at your touch. That tingling feeling that his magic gives off permeates inside you, forcing you closer and closer to orgasm with every thrust, no matter how you may try to prolong the buildup. Sans is almost there, too – he can't stop himself from taking over your job, holding you in place and jutting his hips up into you with frantic, quickening speed.

 

With a cry of “Sans, oh, fuck”, the nerves in your midsection explode with pleasure that radiates wonderfully through every muscle. The contractions make you tighten around Sans, who comes powerfully into you with a strangled grunt.

 

Then he holds you close like he always does, seeming to savor the feeling of your pulse pounding against his bones. You tell him you love him and you always will, and with the way your Soul rejoices when he responds in kind, you know it to be true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my endings are the worst part. To me, anyway. They're just so damn hard to write.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Yell at me over on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/) **(18+)** or leave me some feedback here - love talking to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself that if my [other fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7462008) got 100 kudos, I would try to finish this monstrosity and post it.
> 
> Never did I think that would happen. Thank you so much for the positive response. Really warms my heart. :]


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